Survival II Retribution
by imag1ne
Summary: Sequel to Survival. A year after escaping Lyle's cabin, Jarod is struggling to survive the ordeal when his family needs him most. Eventual JMPR.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark and I'm just borrowing the characters. So, please don't sue.

A/N: This is a sequel to _Survival_, a story I wrote between S3 and S4. I did my best to write it so that you don't have to read the original – however, if you want to read it, you can find it on my website.

Also, unlike Survival, which had chapters that rated anywhere from PG to NC-17 - the strongest rating this story will have is a mild R for implied sexual abuse. As such – this will be the ONLY chapter I post to All other chapters will be posted to my website, as I complete them. If you want to be notified when another chapter is posted, please send me an email and I will do my best to keep you notified. Of course, in return, I ask for some feedback (I think that's fair, don't you?)

However, if you are under 17, or Survival wasn't your cup of tea, then the chances are that this is not the story for you.

Survival II: Retribution

Part 1

by imagine

Last week of August, 2000

"No!"

With a sudden gasp, Jarod bolted upright, his arms wrapping protectively over his face for only a second, before they slowly crossed over his chest. His erratic heartbeats and labored breaths echoed loudly in his ears; but, even as his body struggled for composure, Jarod heard the light tapping of the shade against the window. He knew his shivering was not due to the cool air that streamed into the room yet pulled one of the discarded blankets from the floor and slid it around his shoulders. The soft fabric against his skin was somehow comforting and, as he held it tightly, Jarod moved hesitantly off the bed.

Coaxed by the steady rhythm of the waves on the beach outside, he crossed to the patio doors and slid them open further. With one hand beneath the blanket, gently tracing the jagged scar on his left shoulder, Jarod leaned against the window frame and watched the Pacific swell against the shadowed sand. Mesmerized by the gray-white foam of the rolling waves, the low timbre of the sea, and his own repetitive motions, Jarod's heartbeat found a steady tempo and his lungs began drawing in the heavy salt air in deep, even breaths.

When he was confident that the terror had passed, Jarod turned away from the view but, suddenly, the comforting roar of the sea gave way to a crescendo of whispered demands in his head and the tremors resumed. He squeezed his eyes shut only to have the images that had soured his sleep flash in front of him, taunting and torturing him with threats he could only barely comprehend.

With little more than a whimper, Jarod fell to the floor and, succumbing to his growing panic, burrowed himself against the wall. Curled under the blanket in the corner of the moonlit room, with his knees to his chest, his head lowered and his hands pressed against his ears, Jarod softly rocked in place. The blanket slid down his back and, rather than pulling it back to his shoulders, Jarod wrapped his bare arms over his chest, hugging himself in a last ditch effort to find comfort.

"I am your property," he finally murmured, "yours to do with as you see fit."

* * *

"Major Charles?"

"Yes, who is this?" Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock and frowned. Any phone call after midnight was not destined to be a good call.

"This is Jack Simon," the deep voice cracked, "I'm a friend . ."

"Yes, Jack," the Major interrupted anxiously, pulling himself to a sitting position, "I know who you are. Is something wrong?"

"Well, um, that's why I'm calling." There was a slight pause as the young man cleared his throat. "Is Adam home?"

"Why would Adam be home?" He felt Margaret wrap her arm around his shoulder and move closer. "I thought he was at the concert with you."

"He was but he left and . ."

"He left? When? Why?" the Major asked, quickly sliding his legs over the side of the bed, "Jack, what happened?"

With one hand gripping the telephone receiver tightly, the other fingers of the other instinctively slipped between those of his wife as he met her worried gaze. The slight pressure he added to her hand had been meant to be reassuring; but, instead, seemed to intensify the fear in her eyes.

"The concert ended about an hour ago. We got separated in the crowd, and when Mel, Steph and I got to the gate, Adam was talking to a woman I'd never seen before. As soon as we walked up, well, Adam started acting kind of weird," the boy paused a moment, waiting for the Major to comment. When the man was quiet, the teen took a deep breath and continued, "He kept looking past me, wouldn't look me in the eye, ya know? That's not like him. And, when he left, he didn't say a word to Mel. It was like he was pretending she wasn't there. All he said was that there had been a family emergency and that he had to leave with his aunt."

"His aunt? Are you sure Adam said the woman was his aunt?"

"Yes, Sir. He said she was his Aunt Claire."

* * *

Still trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare and panic attack, Jarod stood at the door to the patio, holding two drinks and quietly taking in how much she had changed in a year. Aside from the obvious, like the length of her hair and a few extra pounds he would never admit to noticing, he saw a definite change in her attitude and confidence. Though he doubted she would ever have been classified as a shrinking violet, he sensed that she was putting more trust in others and, in the process, had become more relaxed.

When he was released from the hospital, she had argued emphatically that leaving him alone would put him at risk. Despite his assurances he would be fine, she insisted she could help during his recovery and, though Jarod had honestly wanted her company, the thought that he might continue to burden her with his demons was unacceptable. If it hadn't been for Sydney's promise to stay with him when his parents were not able, and Broots' design of a video feed that allowed her to monitor his progress from a secure Internet address, Jarod was sure that she would have never left his side.

"So, are you going to stand there all night," the woman said, without turning, "or are you going to come out and join me? It's absolutely gorgeous out here."

He smiled and opened the screen, not bothering with a verbal response. Padding barefoot across the wooden deck, he moved to the step below the one she occupied and held out one of the drinks. She grinned softly and accepted the glass of mineral water, then slid to the left, making room for him beside her before turning her view back on the ocean.

"I thought Elvis was exaggerating when he told me this was the perfect place to live. Guess I owe him an apology."

"Elvis? You're still calling him that?"

She shrugged, watching Jarod lower himself to the step. "I do it only when I want to annoy him but I slip once in awhile. Adam may be a genius, but he's still a teenager and, as his big sister, it's my job to embarrass him once in awhile. Letting his friends know his family nickname keeps him grounded."

"You're the only one who refers to him by that name, so I doubt it qualifies as a 'family' nickname, Emily. And, if I were you, I'd be careful," he cautioned, "Adam may turn the tables on you some day."

"Spoilsport."

After sipping at her drink, she glanced at Jarod and then out at the beach. They sat in comfortable silence for almost ten minutes, before she faced him. "Thank you for finally letting me visit. I was worried that I'd be relegated to only seeing you on the Internet for the rest of our natural lives."

The flicker of worry in his eyes made Emily reach out and rub her brother's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, I am not a voyeur," she smiled, "The feed was disconnected a few weeks after it was installed. I came to my senses and realized that you were in capable hands and that Mom, Dad and Sydney would keep me in the loop. Besides, I was afraid the Centre might stumble upon it." Her smile faded, and, after taking a deep breath, she dropped her hand and her eyes, "I never want you hurt because of me again."

"I'm sorry this has been so hard on you," he whispered, softly pressing his lips against her forehead. "But, you have to believe me, Em, nothing that happened was your fault."

Ignoring his reassurance, she took another sip of the drink. She knew, all to well, it had been Lyle's threats against her that had prevented Jarod from trying to escape, but Emily had no intention of discussing the matter. Talking would not change any of the facts or take away her guilt.

"I know we have to make sure the Centre believes you're dead and that they believe coming after Adam would put them all at risk, before we can even think about leading a normal life . . ."

"But, understanding doesn't make it easier."

Emily's voice cracked when he reached for her hand. "The last time I saw you . ."

"I'm better, Em."

Drawing her hand away, she looked down at her drink, swirling it just enough to make the ice clink softly against the side of the glass. "Mom told me you said the nightmares stopped." She hesitated and looked up at him with soft, apologetic eyes. "I heard you in your room, Jarod. The truth is that you've just stopped sleeping, isn't it?"

"Don't worry so much. Despite what you think you heard, the nightmares aren't as bad as they were, and I'm learning to deal with the flashbacks."

There was a long pause while Jarod waited for his sister to speak. She ran her hand through the condensation that beaded the side of her glass before finally placing the drink at her feet. When she looked at him, Jarod saw a mixture of concern, guilt and curiosity.

"I know what happened at the street fair," she said. Immediately, she reached up and gently pulled him back to the step when he tried to stand and move away. Folding both her hands over his, she held him tightly, "Adam was worried, he . ."

"He shouldn't have said anything."

"After his visit with you, it was obvious that something was bothering him. I thought, if I knew what it was, I might be able to help and I made him tell me; so don't be angry with him. I understand why you didn't want me around after you were released from the hospital, but I can't just stand around and do nothing. Please, Jarod, let me help."

His eyes met hers immediately, wide with disbelief. "Emily, you've already done more than you should have."

She opened her mouth to protest; but Jarod's movements interrupted her. Sliding his drink on to the step above him, the Pretender gently took his sister by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"You rescued me, protected me, and put yourself in danger for me. If it weren't for you, I doubt I would be sitting here now." Pulling her close, Jarod waited until his sister relaxed then kissed her on the forehead and murmured, "I know you're worried but it's time that I do for myself, Little Sister. I will be all right. I promise."

* * *

"There's no answer at the beach house," the Major said, disconnecting the call and slipping the small phone on to the table, "I'll try back in a little while."

"No answer?" she stopped pacing and glanced at the clock on the wall, "It's almost two in the morning. Why wouldn't they answer?"

"Honey, calm down. Jarod and Emily are in a different time zone, remember? It's not even midnight where they are. I left a message and we'll try back in a few minutes."

"This can't be happening. Not again."

"Margaret, calm down." The Major stepped to her side and took the distraught woman in his arms. "We'll get him back."

"It's all my fault," she told him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she curled her fingers around the fabric of his shirt, "If I hadn't dangled what I knew about her partnership with Damon in front of Claire, for so many years, she wouldn't be doing this."

"That's not true." He pulled back far enough to make eye contact, and continued, "If you hadn't intercepted the information about Claire, she would have done a lot worse to our family, a lot sooner. We can deal with this. Broots said he'd call back as soon as he accessed her file."

Turning away, she shook her head. "Broots isn't going to find anything, Charles, and you know it. Claire isn't stupid. She wouldn't file an itinerary."

"No, but, we might find something to go on, something that might help us find Adam before . ."

"She won't hurt him," Margaret interrupted sharply, pivoting in her spot and meeting his eyes, "because, if she does, I'll make her wish she were dead."

* * *

The night air sent a shiver up her arm and Emily moved from the stairs, quietly excusing herself. "I'm going to get a sweater," she said, "I thought California was supposed to be warm."

"For that to happen," he smiled, "the sun is usually up."

"Picky, picky."

He watched her walk away and then leaned back against the wooden railing, his eyes skimming the beach that doubled as his back yard. The house was set in a remote area, far away from the tourists and crowds usually associated with the Golden Gate State and had been the perfect place for him to recuperate. He no longer needed around the clock care and could move anywhere in the world, but, somehow, Jarod did not feel the need. Aside from the periodic getaways he took that offered him a change of scenery and chance to make new friends, he doubted he would ever fall back into the nomad way of life he had led in the years after his escape from the Centre. This was his home.

The beach house had three levels, which included a finished basement, six bedrooms, an office, three full baths and two half baths. To an outsider, it was much too big for a single man, living alone; but, to Jarod, the house was perfect. Though he seldom strayed from the first level, just knowing that the people he cared about had established residence in other rooms somehow made him feel closer to them, even when he was alone.

After his escape from Lyle's cabin, he had stubbornly tried to isolate himself, determined to suffer through the aftermath of his ordeal on his own. His friends and family, however, had other ideas. They not only forcibly included themselves in his recovery but banded together to provide him with round the clock companionship, whether he wanted it or not. They read to him, laughed with him and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to disappear from their lives. Though he fought the intrusion at every turn, Jarod soon found that he enjoyed the company and was thankful for their support. By the time he left the hospital, the idea of sharing his home with them seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

His parents chose the finished basement as their quarters. It included a bedroom, private bath, a small living area and a top of the line entertainment center; however, they took little advantage of the seclusion. During the most harrowing of his recovery period, he never woke without one or both of them by his side. They were always close enough to hold him if he needed comfort, tease him into a smile if he needed cheering up, and restrain him if he threatened his own well being.

For months, they told him he was safe and promised things would get better, even when he wasn't sure they believed it themselves. More importantly, though, his parents respected his wishes and left him alone with his thoughts and memories, when he asked. Despite the years he spent questioning their role in how he had come to be at the Centre, Jarod now had no doubt that his parents loved him.

Simultaneously, Sydney did what he did best -- he listened and counseled. During Jarod's struggles to separate his memories from his nightmares, his attitude alternated between depression, anger and frustration. He accused Sydney of things he knew in his heart were not true, repeating vile insults Lyle had embedded in his brain automatically and then instantly regretting them. Though his voice trembled slightly at times, the older man was always tender and reassuring toward his protege and, no matter how the words may have stung, Sydney masked his hurt.

Soon, the emotional pain Jarod was causing his mentor became obvious. Sleeping, eating and socializing became nothing more than passing thoughts for Sydney. He withdrew from interaction with everyone but Jarod and seldom ventured from his room at the top of the stairs. He claimed he did it so that he wouldn't infringe on Jarod's time with his parents, but the Pretender began to believe that the psychiatrist was actually reacting to the anger, guilt and blame that had been forced upon him during their sessions.

Deciding to ease Sydney's torment, Jarod retained the services of Dr. Kelly, a psychiatrist who had taken an interest in him during his stay in the hospital. Adjusting to the new doctor and his techniques was, to say the least, awkward. There were times Jarod questioned his own judgment in hiring the man; however, he soon found that opening up to Philip Kelly was easier than expected.

The only down side to the arrangement was that, shortly after Jarod began his sessions with Dr. Kelly, Sydney announced it was time for him to return to Blue Cove. When questioned, the older man insisted his leaving had less to do with Jarod's choice of therapists than it did with his need to protect the younger man.

_"Someone needs to keep tabs on what the Raines and the Triumvirate are up to," he said, "It's the only way we can assure your family's safety."_

The thought of being separated, again, from the man who had raised and protected him for so many years was almost unbearable, but Jarod knew Sydney had made up his mind and that there was nothing he could say that would make a difference. When the time came, he hugged his mentor tightly and murmured a quiet promise that the room at the top of the stairs would always be his. In the brief second between when Sydney pulled away and turned toward the waiting car, Jarod heard the words he'd waited decades to hear. His eyes were suddenly moist and his heart was suddenly in his throat, but when Sydney faced him, one last time, Jarod nodded and mouthed that he loved him, too.

Turning on the step, so he could look into the house, Jarod's eyes fell on the framed Polaroid on the end table. Taken at a street festival almost two months before, it captured one of the first sincere smiles between him and Adam.

Only two of the six bedrooms were on the main level of the house and Jarod occupied the largest of them. Adam immediately chose the smaller, situated at the East end of the house. Though it didn't have an ocean view, Adam was more than satisfied with the mountains in the distance, the home theater/game room that Jarod had built in an adjoining room and the separate entrance the patio doors provided. The only thing he disliked was the neutral decor and insisted Jarod accompany him in scouring surrounding neighborhood shops for posters, lamps and second-hand furniture. Unfortunately, a few hours into their excursion, Jarod suffered a particularly brutal flashback after viewing a painting by a local artist at a neighborhood street fair.

The tremors, heart palpitations and labored breaths came on quickly, giving Jarod barely enough time to move away from the kiosk before he was reduced to a trembling mess. He stumbled through the crowd with a look of sheer panic, his face drenched in sweat and his hands trembling like an addict, desperate to find a secluded spot to ride out the attack. When Adam found him, Jarod was crouched in the alley behind an art supply store, his back against the brick wall and his head resting in his hands. Positive that the boy had been forced to offer explanations and excuses to strangers about his behavior, Jarod's first instinct was to apologize for ruining their day together.

Adam responded with a smile and a shrug as he held out his hand to help Jarod stand. "So you caused a little excitement for the locals; the day does not qualify as being ruined."

Although they were still, technically, strangers, Adam quickly took on the role of caretaker and psychiatrist. Despite the lengthy therapy sessions Jarod had with Dr. Kelly, immediately before and after the attack, Adam spent the entire night gently questioning his brother about the episode, insisting they analyze it together.

It was almost three in the morning when the teen suggested they return to the fair the next day so Jarod could face his fears, setting off an argument that the Pretender decided to dramatically end by going for a run on the beach. Less than a mile from his house, he realized Adam was following. The boy quietly kept pace at a respectful distance for almost five miles before Jarod finally turned to face him. Accepting that the boy was in better shape, and more determined than he had anticipated, the Pretender reluctantly agreed to do as his brother suggested.

When they arrived at the fair, Jarod deliberately walked past the artist's display twice, unable to make himself view the painting that had incited so much anxiety. A fist formed in his chest, wrapping its fingers around his lungs and refusing to allow them to fill to capacity. Even with Adam standing beside him, Jarod felt his body begin to tremble in anticipation of another attack. A fine sheen of sweat blanketed his forehead, his hands were clammy and he felt his gut twisting itself into a tight knot as he finally moved in front of the watercolor. Forcing himself to ignore the instinct that urged him to flee, Jarod stared at the wooded scene long enough to not only regain control of his emotions but for the artist to mistakenly believe he had made a sale.

When Adam smiled broadly and squeezed his shoulder in celebration, Jarod suddenly realized his brother was no longer the confused, frightened child that had been tormented by Raines and returned the grin. It was at that moment that a passing vendor snapped the photo, then sold it to them for ten dollars. Though the price was high, Jarod paid it willingly. The insecure teen who had been so desperate to feel loved was well on his way to becoming a self-sufficient, confident man and Jarod was not only impressed, he was proud of Adam.

Placing his drink next to his sister's empty glass, he stared out at the ocean again. They had corresponded via email, letters and videos, but Emily was the last in his family to visit because he felt she was the one who needed to see him the healthiest. In addition to her own battles with Lyle, she had taken on the role of Jarod's protector. She witnessed his withdrawal, his flashbacks and his hallucinations at a dangerously close range, absorbing more of his distress than she should have because of her empathic abilities. Jarod would forever be trying to make it up to her.

He was so determined that his sister's visit be pleasant, that he had tried to cancel it, when the nightmares returned. Using the unsolved murders of three local women as an excuse, he called Emily a week before her scheduled arrival and tried to convince her to postpone her trip. His hopes were that, after a few more weeks, he would have his subconscious under control. Unfortunately, during the conversation, he learned his sister shared his stubborn streak.

"I just don't think now is a good time for you to visit. I promise you can come later."

"_You've had a number of guests since you've been in California, Jarod; but, there's always going to be a reason for me not to visit, isn't there?"_

"_Em, please, don't make this into something it's not," he pleaded, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten, "I promise, I want you to visit and you will. Just not right now. The first attack was only a few days after Adam left, and the last was two days ago. The police still don't have any suspects. The women who were killed were all found within a few miles of my neighborhood, they were single, in their mid thirties . ."_

"_And you think I'll become a target as soon as I step off the plane," she finished. _

"_I didn't say that."_

"_Jarod, I'm sorry about what happened to those women, but I'm not exactly defenseless and you know it. If you don't want me to visit, you're going to have to give me a better reason, preferably the truth."_

Knowing that the truth would just make his sister more determined, Jarod denied having any motive, other than her safety, for almost an hour. Finally, he admitted defeat, made note of her flight information and promised to meet her at the baggage claim.

Emily's room was on the second floor, and was one of the three bedrooms in the house that had an ocean view and deck. He smiled, remembering the look on her face and the excited hug she'd bestowed upon him, when he'd shown her the large, airy chamber. Her reaction had surprised him and, at that moment, Jarod realized how thrilled he was to have his sister in the house. Though he was still concerned about her discovering his secret, he was anxious for them to build memories.

Emily was one of the strongest women he knew and he knew her strength could also be her weakness. He wanted to learn what made her happy, he wanted to keep her safe and, more than anything, he wanted a close, honest relationship so that she could never doubt how important she was to him.

Jarod felt his smile fade as his thoughts darkened and he wondered if he was capable of achieving everything he wanted with his sister. He had tried to provide another woman with similar emotional security, and he had failed. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wooden railing and released a shuddered breath as his mind showed him the image of Miss Parker.

When they first escaped the cabin, they had been inseparable. She had been the one who didn't treat him as if he were about to shatter, the one who challenged him, and the one who got his adrenaline pumping. While his parents and Sydney were being sympathetic, listening and counseling, Parker was bullying him into living again.

Having chosen the room directly above his, she knew when he had trouble sleeping. More times than he cared to count, she would turn up at his bedroom door, fully dressed and insisting on accompanying him on a bike ride or early run on the beach, to clear his mind. She had been supportive and comforting, even when they fought, and he had trusted her with thoughts and memories he couldn't share with anyone else. She never seemed to be aware of the power she had; her strength and her companionship was a big part of why he had survived.

When she left, though, he discovered she also had the power to destroy him.

"Here," she said, stepping back on to the deck and handing him the cordless phone, "The flashing light means you have a voice mail message, doesn't it?"

Startled by Emily's voice, he looked up quickly, and a puzzled expression suddenly crossed his face. Taking the phone, Jarod dialed the proper sequence of numbers to retrieve the message.

"It's probably a wrong number," he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

Nodding, she slipped the cotton sweater over her arms and shoulders then sat beside him. Within seconds, Jarod's body stiffened, his face turned to granite and his dark eyes flashed with fear.

"Jarod?"

Unable to find his voice, he stood, disconnected the recorded message and started into the house, knowing his sister would follow. He activated the speaker phone, waiting until she was beside him before punching out the eleven digit number.

"The message was from Dad," he finally whispered.

She didn't ask what their father had said, nor did she ask why he was suddenly so agitated. Instead, Emily lowered herself into a nearby chair, brought her knees to her chest and hugged herself as Jarod paced in front of the table. As they listened to the ringing, neither was able to look at the other but each kept their gaze on the phone, silently willing it to make a connection.

"Hello?" the woman answered breathlessly.

"Mom?" the Pretender's tone became urgent at the sound of his mother's voice and he and Emily moved closer to the phone. "Mom, what's wrong?"

* * *

He had reacted differently than she expected. In fact, his reaction was completely contrary to what hers would have been, if the situations were reversed. As soon as he understood that the welfare of others were at stake, the boy abandoned any thoughts of escape. She'd seen the flicker of defiance, the kernel of hope he'd been clinging to, suddenly die when his friends approached and part of her had felt guilty.

After fingering the bruises on his arm, she slid her hand to his face and pushed back the long hair that covered his forehead. There had been no struggle, no game of chase through the crowd and the only real resistance he displayed was after they were seated in the car and the syringe was revealed. His eyes had widened, darting desperately between her and the guard that held him, but despite his attempts to pull away the needle was slipped into his arm and, less than a minute later the boy was unconscious.

Folding his jacket over her lap, she felt the weight of his cell phone and retrieved it from the inside pocket. Then, placing the device on the seat, she balled up the garment and carefully slid it under his head, ignoring his sleepy moan of protest.

"Ssshh, it's all right, Hon," she whispered, sliding her hand across his face, "It's best if you sleep now. You'll wake up to your new life, soon enough."

* * *

The sound of her own heartbeat threatened to drown out her mother's words, but Emily managed to hear the fear without any trouble. Claire James, a Centre operative who had once befriended Emily for no other reason than to keep tabs on her for Lyle, had taken Adam. The woman's name was synonymous with betrayal, as far as Emily was concerned; and, listening as her mother took the blame for what had happened, instead of letting it fall on Claire's shoulders, Emily felt angry, determined and frightened all at once. A sensation she had experienced more than once in her life.

Once all the questions were voiced and answered, they promised each other that Adam would be all right, and apprehensively disconnected the call. After a heavy sigh and letting her fingers run through her hair, Emily slowly pushed away from the table and looked at Jarod. Her brother had begun pacing the width of the room the moment he'd heard Adam was missing, and continued until the call was completed. Now, he was disturbingly still.

Staring blindly at the dark ocean, his back to her, Jarod turned when her hand slid on to his arm. Gently, Emily moved into him, rested her head below his chin and closed her eyes as his arms folded around her. His hands were cool and strong, his breathing was controlled, but his whisper was as ragged as their mother's had been.

"We'll find him."

Emily nodded into his chest and looked up. Waiting until he met her gaze, she said, "You know Dad was right, Jarod. We'll need help. As much help as we can find."

Rubbing her shoulders, Jarod swallowed hard and finally pulled away, moving toward the deck. The muscle in his jaw clenching with tension, the Pretender purposely avoided her touch when she reached out for him.

"Jarod . ."

His dark eyes were clear and his expression was firm, but the tone of his voice resembled pleading. "Dad and I can find him."

"I know you can," she assured him, "but if someone sees you in Chicago or, if someone is watching the house and follows Dad here, it could get dangerous for everyone. If we called Miss Parker . ."

"I can't -- I won't allow her to be brought into this," he interjected angrily.

"You won't _allow_ it?"

She grabbed his arm as he tried to turn away and, though his eyes avoided hers, Emily felt his turmoil. He was frightened; frightened for himself almost as much as he was for their brother. He needed to be involved but the thought of working with Parker, a woman who had voluntarily walked away from him almost a year before, paralyzed him.

"I don't know what happened between the two of you, but, this is about Adam, not you," she told him, "We have no idea what Claire wants, what she is planning . ."

"She wants the disks."

"Or if she's working with an accomplice," Emily continued, talking angrily over his interruption, "The only thing we know is that she has Adam. We need Parker, Jarod. Adam needs her."

Her words hung in the air as he weighed them against his emotions. When he looked up, Emily saw his eyes soften and, loosening her hold on his arm, she took a step closer. Jarod wiped his face and leaned back against the thick glass doors. Avoiding her gaze, he followed the slow revolutions of the ceiling fan with a blank stare. The muscles in his jaw and neck constricted and relaxed, then, finally, he took a deep breath and looked at his sister.

"I don't know how to contact her."

Taking his hands in hers, Emily whispered, "I do."

* * *

Adam slowly rose to a sitting position on the cot, his fingers gingerly applying pressure to the bridge of his nose in hopes of abating the pounding in his head. Swallowing hard, he lowered his hand and looked around the small, dark room. There were no windows, but small slivers of light seeped in through the space above and below the door. The walls and floor were cement and though he was still donned in his jacket, he could feel the dampness in the air. He was underground and, judging by the red flashing light of the camera perched in the corner, he was being watched.

He watched the monitor intently as the boy paced the length of the room. From time to time, he looked at the camera in the corner then dropped his eyes and continued pacing. Lyle frowned and moved away, glancing back over his shoulder once before taking a seat at the large dining table.

"Is something wrong, Hon?"

"He's plotting something."

She laughed and placed a cup of coffee in front of him. "Of course he's plotting something. His escape."

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," he growled, "but I don't like it. He's adjusting too well. You have to keep him off balance. When is his first feeding?"

"Feeding? You make him sound like some zoo animal."

He raised an eyebrow and stared at her.

"He's due to receive his first meal in about two hours," she sighed, sipping from her own mug, "Eggs and toast."

He shook his head, "Feed him now. Dinner. Red meat. Carbohydrates. Hold him down and force feed him, if you have to."

Placing her cup on the table, she stared at the man as he rose from his chair.

"We need to get his internal clock off cycle," he explained, moving to the monitor, "We need to confuse him."

"And feeding him a heavy dinner, at five o'clock in the morning, will do that?"

"It's a start," he said. Then, retrieving a bottle of pills from his pocket, Lyle held them out, adding, "This will help it along."

"What are they?"

"A mild sedative. Put it in his meal," he answered, watching his captive pace across the screen, "While he's asleep, have the guards change him into the clothes I brought from the Centre. Make sure they take away any personal affects he may still have."

"And do what with them?"

"Send them to his parents."

Without comment, the woman slipped the pills into her pocket. Her head was lowered, but she watched her partner in crime through narrowing eyes and thick eyelashes.

"When he wakes up, put him to work. The more manual the labor, the better," Lyle continued, finally turning toward her, "Don't let him eat or rest until it's time to move him, then sedate him again but startle him whenever he dozes off. If he talks about his family ignore him. Under no circumstances should his comments or questions be acknowledged. Make him repeat that his name is Gemini over and over, make him tell you he belongs at the Centre. Then feed him, sedate him and start it all over again. It's important that he believes more time has passed than actually has. Disorient him."

"You mean brainwash him."

He grinned and reached for his coffee cup. "It worked with Jarod."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	2. Chap 2

A/N - I said I was only going to post on my site, mostly because it's easier for me. However, a few people have convinced me to post a few more chapters here. So - here's part 2 - I'll post again, as RL allows me the time. For those of you who are interested, though, all parts through Chap 6 are already postedat my site.

Survival II-Retribution  
Part 2

Sunrise, Day Two:

Emily woke with a start. Grabbing at the back of the sofa, she swung her legs over the side and pulled herself to a half-sitting position while her eyes darted around the room. After a few seconds, she relaxed and, recognizing her surroundings, let her head rest against the back of the couch.

She turned her head to the right and reached for the photo of her brothers. Unable to match the smiles that greeted her, Emily let her finger trace the younger man's face, remembering the way he had teased her about packing too much for the trip. Even after she grabbed a shoe from the suitcase and threw it in his direction, he had poked his head through the door, smiling broadly while telling her that she threw like a girl.

With a heavy sigh, she placed the photo back in its place, letting her thumb run over the faces once more before looking around the room again, for some sign of Jarod. She could see enough of the inside of his bedroom to know that the bed had not been slept in, and shook her head, hoping she was wrong. His face had been so drawn, and his movements so lethargic, she knew he was lying when he said the nightmares were tapering off. The only thing that had stopped her from confronting him was the look in his eyes. He was trying to protect her, trying to gain some semblance of control in his life, and Emily did not have the heart to take that away from him.

Stretching, she tossed the blanket that draped her shoulders on to the newspaper-covered coffee table and shook her head. She was still puzzled about Jarod's reluctance to involve Miss Parker in the search. He openly admitted that she was more than capable, and that she cared about Adam as much as they did, but it had still taken Emily most of the evening to convince him that contacting his childhood friend was the right thing to do.

Though their mother had insisted that they would pay whatever demand Claire made, her father had voiced doubts about Adam being returned that easily. He believed there was something, other than the disks, motivating Claire. Jarod had agreed it would take a combined effort to get the boy back, once the demands were made, but the moment his father mentioned the possibility of contacting Miss Parker, the Pretender became quiet.

She remembered the first time she noticed the bond between her brother and Miss Parker. They had been in the loft of Lyle's cabin and, despite the pain - emotional and physical - they were both feeling, they had been able to comfort each other, without a word or a touch. Their interaction confused her at first, but Emily soon became aware that, though Jarod's relationship with his ex-huntress was special, they were unaware of the fact. Their behavior toward each other was second nature. They protected, comforted and, at times, antagonized, each other without a thought. It was possibly the most honest relationship she had ever seen; but, what Emily didn't understand was what had happened to make them suddenly try to sever the connection.

Moving toward the kitchen, she stopped briefly to watch the tide draw the Pacific further from the house. Though the sight and sounds of nature were relaxing and made her smile softly, her spirits were lifted more when she continued into the kitchen and found the neatly printed note propped up on the kitchen counter. Her brother knew her too well.

_The coffee is all set to go, just turn it on. I went for a bike ride. We'll talk when I get back butI'llkeep my cell phone on, in case something happens. I love you, J_

Considering the sun was just coming up, she couldn't help but wonder how long he had been gone and where he found the energy. With a shake of her head, she pressed the button at the base of the machine. By the time the dark liquid had covered the bottom of the coffee pot, Emily decided it was best that Jarod was gone. He needed a diversion, and the physical activity would do him good. Besides, she needed time to contact Miss Parker.

* * *

Miss Parker sipped at her third cup of coffee while going over the files in front of her. Atlanta, Denver, and Phoenix each reported deliveries within the last six weeks and, for the life of her, she could not figure out how it was possible. 

Her eyes still centered on the pages scattered across the table; the noise of the cell phone barely fazed her. Reaching for the device, she answered the call with an abrupt, "What?"

"Miss Parker?"

She stiffened and raised her eyes. "You have the wrong number."

"It's Emily," the young woman said quickly, "Please, don't hang up. I'm sorry, I don't know what name you're using; but, I'm at the beach house and I need to see you. I'll meet you anywhere you want. Please. It's important."

Miss Parker absorbed the younger woman's tone and her words, unapologetically letting silence fill the telephone line. Finally, she nodded. "I'll meet you in an hour at the park on Main. Do you know where it is?"

"I'll find it. Thank you."

* * *

"Margaret, you're exhausted," the Major whispered. He moved beside his wife and slipped an arm around her as she stared out the window. "You've been up all night. You need to rest. You need .." 

"I need my son back," she snapped, glaring at him, "Do you realize how long he's been gone? How the hell can you expect me to rest? She could have taken him anywhere and done anything to him." As soon as the words were spoken, she felt him recoil and the frustration in her eyes melted into an apology. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't . ."

"It's all right," he promised, bringing her forehead gently to his lips, "I'm scared, too."

"I just want her to call," she told him, in a weak voice, "I want to give her what she wants, so she'll give him back."

"We'll get him back, Margaret, I promise you."

She sighed and leaned into him, closing her eyes as he pulled her closer. They were quiet for a few minutes; each of them comforted by the breathing and heartbeat of the other. Slowly, her trembling stilled and her breaths started to come in deep, even intervals as he led her to the living room sofa. Just as she began to succumb to her emotional and physical fatigue, however, the shrill of the telephone startled them both.

She fumbled for the phone and brought it to her ear with both hands. "Hello."

The desperation in her voice caused his heart to skip a beat and the Major slipped his arm around Margaret's waist, watching her face intently. She glanced at him, then turned away, moving blindly toward the window as she waited for a response. Her lips separated, and seemed to be preparing to repeat the greeting when her face darkened and she tightened her hold on the phone.

"I'm sure the children at the concert told you how I was introduced to them. I kind of like it, you know," she said, turning toward the monitor, "I think I'll insist the boy continue to refer to me as his aunt."

"Let me talk to him."

"Not this time," she answered, her voice no longer playful.

"Claire, I want to talk to my son. I want to make sure Adam is all right."

"I would be careful of your tone, Margaret. Gemini is fine and he'll remain that way, as long as you cooperate and do as you're told."

Claire watched her men roughly rouse her captive from his sedated sleep. They pushed him to the floor, next to a bucket and brush, telling him it was time to earn his keep and the boy let out a thick, frustrated cry as he fell. It wasn't until she heard his mother's strangled gasp that she realized the boy's sounds transmitted over the telephone and Claire smiled.

"I have the disks. Just tell me where you want .."

"You're in no position to negotiate or demand anything. I'll call with your instructions, and my demands, when I'm ready," Claire interrupted harshly, then added, "When I've decided you've suffered enough."

"Tell me now," she demanded, then, in a weaker voice, "Please. I want my son back."

"In case you've forgotten, both your sons are dead," Claire hissed spitefully, "Gemini is the Centre's child and I have the power to return him to them."

Struggling to keep her voice from trembling, Margaret was surprised at how strong her voice sounded when she asked, "How do I know you haven't?"

"Go to your computer," the woman replied in a deep, monotone voice, "Now, I have to go. We have a long trip ahead of us and there are preparations to be made."

As soon as the words were spoken, the line went dead.

* * *

Jarod brought the bottle of tepid water to his lips and took a long drink while pedaling past the few runners and cyclists that had braved the early morning heat. By the time he quenched his thirst, and placed the container back in its holder, he was alone on a long stretch of blacktop. Shifting gears, he increased his speed to advance up a particularly steep hill and then let the bike coast freely down the other side. 

Without reducing his speed, he maneuvered the mountain bike off the path and into a field of tall grass. The summer drought had left the high plants drier and more brittle than they should be in late August, tickling and scratching his legs as he sliced through them. Leaning forward on the bike, Jarod supported his weight over the handlebars and tightened his grip as the as the tires bounced over twigs, roots and rocks, vibrating the muscles in his arms and shoulders. He shifted forward a little more, enjoying the massage that seemed to numb and awaken his nerves simultaneously.

The field gave way to a dirt path, leading him beneath a canopy of trees and Jarod slowed his pace. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he let the bike coast to a stop, filling his lungs with the slightly cooler breeze of the nearby creek while he scanned his surroundings critically. Except for the trickling water, chirping sparrows, and his own heartbeat, it was quiet.

Laying the bike on the ground, he retrieved a fresh bottle of water from the pouch on the back of the seat and moved through the trees. Once he reached the rocky bank, he trained his eyes on the stone chimney and attic window adorning the distant house. Though it was easily five miles from where he stood, to Jarod, the structure seemed much closer. Every speck of concentration he had was directed at the building, overwhelming him to the point that the birds, the breeze, and the softness of the ground beneath him were suddenly nonexistent. His breathing became more erratic and he knew heat and exertion were not the only contributors to the sweat that was dripping down his face, but Jarod refused to turn away. He swallowed more water, ignoring the tensing of his muscles and the bile that began to rise in his throat.

When his head felt light and his vision seemed to dim, Jarod finally spun around and leaned heavily against a neary evergreen. Less than a year had passed since he'd seen the cabin for the first - and last - time, and suddenly, Jarod was reliving the experience.

Not knowing it was there, they had stumbled upon the structure by accident. His mind and body had reacted violently to the surprise, bringing him to his knees both figuratively and literally. If it hadn't been for Parker leaning against him, calmly insisting he concentrate only on her voice, her touch and her face, he might have never made it out of the woods that day.

Steadying himself by wrapping an arm around its jagged bark, he took deep, even gulps of air while letting his mind float between the memory of Parker's support, the sound of her voice, the feel of her body against his and the knowledge of who lived in the cabin. He was safe, he told himself as he slowly looked back at the stone and wood building.

Reaching for the bike, he pulled it upright, shakily slipped the sunglasses back into place and started back toward the path. He had five more miles to go. He pushed away the images of Lyle and gripped the handlebars tighter, reminding himself that the cabin that haunted his nightmares had burned to the ground. He was two thousand miles away from the wooded area he'd been abused and exploited.

For months, he had been telling himself, and anyone who would listen, that he was recovering. Though there was a part of him that believed his nightmares were less violent, and that his flashbacks were less frequent and less debilitating, his heart knew the truth. He had only just begun acknowledging the things Lyle had subjected him to and it could take years to deal with them properly. The trouble was, he no longer had years. Pedaling closer to the secluded house, he increased his speed, hoping to outrun the nightmarish images racing to catch up with him. Adam was missing and the fears that Jarod once had for himself were now for the boy.

Jumping off the bike, he dropped it beside the wooden porch and, with three long strides, was soon standing at the door. Using one hand to knock loudly on the window, he used the other to lean on the door bell, listening impatiently as it chimed inside and then pressing the button a second time, before the tune had finished. As he knocked and readied himself to ring the bell a third time, the door swung open. Stepping back, he swallowed hard, lowering his eyes respectfully as the man's dark expression changed from irritation to recognition.

"Jarod."

"I need your help. May I come in?"

Emily hung up the phone, and slowly lowered herself to the sofa; her mind replaying the conversation she'd had with her father. Claire had called to taunt them. She was taking Adam away and seemed to be in no hurry to give him back. The only good news was that she had emailed a photo of Adam holding the morning paper and, though Broots was going to analyze it, to be sure, it appeared as if her younger brother was unhurt. At the very least, he was still alive and, presumably, not at the Centre.

Wiping her face, Emily released a heavy sigh and pushed herself to her feet. Then, as her eyes scanned the newspapers, still scattered on the coffee table, she picked up one and then another, glancing at the headlines and at the dates below the banners. Shaking her head, she piled them neatly on the table and crossed the room. Pulling a pen and a sheet of paper from the red notebook inside the desk drawer, she scribbled a note for Jarod and propped it beside the phone. Miss Parker was waiting.

It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the park Miss Parker had chosen for a meeting site, and as soon as Emily pulled the car into the gravel lot, she spotted the brunette sitting on a bench by the playground. She followed the other woman's line of vision and noticed two children running around the monkey bars. The little boy was in the lead.

"One of them is going to get hurt," Miss Parker said, when Emily sat beside her.

"They must be enjoying themselves," the younger woman noted, "or they would have stopped a long time ago."

"You would think so, wouldn't you?"

As soon as the words were spoken, Miss Parker jerked her eyes from the children and offered an apologetic half smile to the woman next to her. Though she was still as striking and composed as ever, Miss Parker's face was drawn and her deep blue eyes seemed less vibrant than Emily remembered.

"Thank you for meeting with me."

"You said it was important," the woman replied, looking back at the children.

She nodded. "It is. Claire kidnapped Adam."

A spark ignited behind Miss Parker's eyes and, as she swung to face Emily, they seemed to evolve into narrow shards of glass. "She did what?"

"She took him from a concert in Chicago, last night."

Emily quietly relayed the chain of events, the call from her parents the night before and the one earlier that morning, while Miss Parker mentally took notes, silently filing away each question for a later time. Assuming she had known where to find him, why would a Centre operative of Claire's standing wait a year to take the boy, if her only intent was to use him to obtain the evidence that linked her with Damon? The disks have been in Margaret's possession for years. Why, suddenly, were their recovery so important to Claire? Had she been threatened with exposure? If so, by whom?

"Until Claire makes her demands, all any of us can do is wait. When we finally get that phone call, though, we're going to have to move fast if we have any hope of finding Adam." She paused a moment, then added, "Jarod and I were hoping you would help."

"If anyone can find Adam, it's Jarod. I doubt he needs, or wants, my help."

Emily glanced back at the playground. The little boy had stopped running and was now leading the little girl up the wrong side of the slide.

"Jarod is having some trouble," she said softly. "When he sleeps, he has nightmares and when he's awake, he has flashbacks."

Miss Parker hesitated, then replied, "He's always managed to function on little sleep."

"For a time, yes, but, this is different. Don't ask me how, because I can't explain it."

"Where is he now?"

"He went for a bike ride early this morning, and wasn't back when I left."

"Does he know you called me?"

"He knows I was planning to."

"But he wasn't happy about it, was he?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders and looked at her companion. "He's getting used to the idea."

Miss Parker flashed a sardonic smile and shook her head.

"Jarod is still trying to deal with the things Lyle did to him," Emily said, feeling the need to defend her brother, "He's terrified that Adam might experience something similar and he's willing to do anything to prevent that from happening."

"Including trusting me?"

"Jarod has always trusted you."

* * *

By the time he turned into the driveway of the beach house, and removed his bike from its rack on the SUV, Jarod was exhausted. Making his way through the garage seemed to take more energy than he had and all he could think about was a long hot shower. Rubbing his hand along his face, he frowned at the thought of having to shave, too, but told himself that it had to be done. 

Except for the soft hum of the air conditioner, the house was quiet. The shades were drawn, the windows were closed and the rooms were empty. He knew, immediately, that Emily had kept her word but still crossed to the desk and glanced at her note. She had gone to meet Parker; she had gone to convince his ex-huntress to return to his life, for Adam's sake, and the thought she might succeed made him nervous.

Before he was aware that he had lifted the receiver, his fingers were hovering over the number pad. The first seven digits in the eleven number sequence were punched at a much quicker pace than the last four and, by the time Jarod was finished, self doubt had filled his thoughts. Panicked, the Pretender disconnected the call in the middle of the first ring, slamming the handset back into its base and telling himself the call had been a bad idea.

After turning off the air conditioner, in favor of the ceiling fans, Jarod opened all the windows in the living room and kitchen, filling the house with the sounds and smell of the sea. Once that was done, he looked at the door that led to his bedroom. It seemed that no matter what he did; he could never manage to make that one room feel as relaxing as comforting as the rest of the house.

He sighed as he entered and, moving quickly to the windows, stripped back the curtains. He jerked open the sliding door and stood in the path of the breeze with his eyes closed. Leaning against the frame, he tried to concentrate on the sounds of the seagulls and the splashing of salt water against the rocks but, soon, the gulls cries faded, drowned out by desperate cries of terror and pain. With a frantic twitch, Jarod opened his eyes. He ran across the deck and down the stairs, scanning the sand and water for someone in distress, pivoting anxiously on the beach for almost a full minute before he realized he was alone. There was no emergency. No one was in danger.

Feeling both guilty and disappointed that he had imagined the crisis, Jarod turned back to the house, periodically glancing over his shoulder to reassure himself that no one needed help. Stepping into his room and closing the screen behind him, he found that the glow of the sun had illuminated and warmed every corner. The colors were so vibrant and the heat so radiant that he could almost forget the terror that gripped him on a nightly basis. Almost.

Nightmares were not new to him. He'd suffered from them for as long as he could remember, but it wasn't until after his internment with Lyle that they became distorted and violent. In an effort to keep them at bay, he had made two dangerous mistakes; the first was becoming dependent on the prescription supplied to him by the hospital, and the second was believing that the worse was over when he kicked the habit.

It took months of therapy with Sydney before Jarod could close his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time, without the aid of drugs. Now that the dreams had returned, more vivid than before, and were finding ways to taunt him while he was awake, he couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before he lost his mind.

He glanced at the phone on the night stand, considered dialing Sydney's private line again, then shook his head and moved toward the attached bath.

Pulling the sweat stained clothes from his body, Jarod tossed them into the open hamper and stepped into the shower stall. He twisted the knobs on the faucet and, his mind preoccupied with the nightmares, stepped under the steady stream without testing the water temperature. He held his breath until the ice cold water warmed, then began to slowly wash away the grime and dirt that had seemed to have been absorbed into his body. The longer he stood in the shower, the harder Jarod began to scrub, punishing his skin until it was scratchy and red before finally stepping from the stall.

His skin still tingling, and his body trembling, he wrapped one towel around his waist and used another to dry his chest, face and hair before dropping it into the hamper. Moving in front of the marble vanity, he caught his reflection and slowly dropped his gaze to the scar on his shoulder. Though the doctors had done what they could to erase it, and his family insisted it wasn't noticeable, Jarod saw the 'L' that had been carved into his skin as clearly as his nightmares reflected the man who made it.

Fingering the old wound for a moment, he remembered the fear that engulfed him and the images of his tormentor looming angrily above him. Trapped inside the trunk of Lyle's car, with his hands, legs and mouth bound in electrical tape, Jarod's struggles had been ineffective against the knife that sliced through his skin. Lyle had laid claim to him that day, branding him as if he were a stray calf and referring him to as his property ever since.

Abruptly dropping his hand, Jarod raised his eyes to the light beard that had formed since the morning and frowned. He hated an untidy look.

Lathering his chin and jaw, the Pretender opened the straight razor and made long easy strokes down the lines of his face with a steady hand. When the last hair follicle fell into the sink, he rinsed the razor and laid it on the vanity, wiped his face with a towel and moved from the room.

Now he could rest.

* * *

When Emily entered the beach house, she saw Jarod through the open patio doors. Donned in a white sleeveless T-shirt and gray running shorts, her brother was barefoot and sprawled in one of the wooden deck chairs that he and their father had built months before. His lap top was on the table beside him and opened only far enough to see the keyboard. 

Though the chair was no longer completely positioned in the sun, his legs were stretched in front of him as if it was. His elbows were resting on the sides of the chair, with his hands clasped comfortably over his stomach, and his head was back, resting on the top edge of the chair. As she moved closer, she saw that one of the several pairs of dark sunglasses he owned were wrapped around his eyes, making it impossible for her to tell if he was sleeping.

Deciding not to disturb him, she turned away and headed for the kitchen. As she passed Jarod's room, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was still on the deck, then peered through the open door. The bed, which had been impeccably made when she left the house, was now in disarray. One of the pillows, and a thin blanket, were in a heap on the floor; the second pillow was wedged vertically between the mattress and headboard. The two top corners of the fitted sheet were curled toward the center of the bed, and the flat sheet was crumpled at the foot. She sighed and pulled the door closed.

In the small kitchen, Emily retrieved the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator and, as she poured the beverage into a tall glass, she heard the hollow scraping sound of wood against wood. She looked up as Jarod finished pulling the heavy chair into the sun, catching her eye as he turned.

"I didn't hear you come in."

"Good," she smiled, as she filled a second glass, "Does that mean you were sleeping?"

"No," he answered, sliding the screen door open as she approached. Seeing her disappointment, he added, "I was close, though, so, I guess that's something."

After closing the door behind her, Jarod took one of the glasses from his sister and nodded his thanks before slipping back into the chair. Emily moved to the wooden railing and leaned against it as she faced him. Even in the sunlight, Jarod appeared pale.

"When did you get back?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

He glanced at his watch. "About an hour and a half ago."

"An hour and a half? You left the house before sunrise, and it's almost five thirty. Don't you think that's overdoing it a bit?"

"It's nothing I haven't done before, Em," he said, sipping at the drink, "In fact, I do the trails fairly regularly."

"With no sleep?"

"If I have to," he sighed and shifted in the chair when she took a step toward him, "Let's change the subject."

"Fine," she spat, then, after taking a deep breath, admitted, "I saw Miss Parker today. Jarod, she wants to help."

He looked up at her, then, pushed himself from the chair and moved to the far side of the deck. Placing the glass on the banister, he faced the ocean, waiting for Emily to continue.

"She didn't think you'd want her here," she said, staring at his back.

"Emily, we've been over this already and I don't want to do it again. I told you, last night, that I don't want her involved in this; but I have no choice. Let's just say I'm coming to terms with it, and leave it at that, shall we?"

Unwilling to let him walk away, Emily followed her brother down the stairs, then quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Are you?" she dared, "Are you coming to terms with it, or are you going to fight this arrangement every step of the way?" When he didn't answer, Emily continued in a sharper tone, "I need an answer, Jarod, because if you're not going to cooperate, then that makes you just as dangerous to Adam as Claire and, damn it, I'll start treating you that way. Is that what you want?"

"Does it matter?" he shot back, "You're going to do as you please, anyway."

As the words were spoken, Jarod felt the anger and frustration he'd been harboring since Parker's name was first mentioned melt away. Lowering his head, he reached for the railing and slid to the bottom step. With his feet buried in the warm sand and forehead resting on the heel of his palms, Jarod squeezed his eyes shut until Emily's soft touch on his wrist coaxed them open.

He looked up as his sister knelt in front of him and, removing his sunglasses, met her gaze. "I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean . ."

"I know."

His hand, clenched in a tight fist, slid across his eyes and then fanned over the back of his neck. With his head lowered, he rubbed the thick muscle roughly and stared at the sand.

"If anyone can find Adam, it's Parker."

"Funny," she grinned, hooking her fingers beneath his chin and raising his eyes to hers, "that's exactly what she said about you."

Allowing himself a small smile, Jarod reached for the railing and pulled them both to their feet. With his arm around his sister's shoulder, he started slowly up the steps.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

He hesitated a moment before admitting, "The nightmares started a couple days after Adam left."

"You haven't had a decent night's sleep for six weeks?"

"At first, they were mild and weren't every night, so I wasn't concerned. I thought they were remnants of the panic attack I had at the fair."

"But, they've gotten worse."

Jarod nodded and moved to where the drinks were still sitting on the banister. Without looking at her, he lifted a glass to his lips. He didn't want to discuss the dreams with his sister. He didn't want to tell her that they took place in a variety of locations or that, in them, he wasn't the only one being brutalized.

"That's why I didn't want you to visit," he admitted, "I didn't want you to worry."

"Have you talked to anyone?" she asked, watching him turn away, "Have you talked to Dr. Kelly?"

Again, Jarod nodded but kept his eyes focused on the ocean. "When they first started, Philip and I had a lengthy session."

"But not since?"

"No."

"He's still your therapist, isn't he?" When he didn't respond right away, Emily slipped her hand around his arm and turned him to face her. "Jarod, is Dr. Kelly still your therapist?"

"I haven't fired him, if that's what you mean."

Her brows furrowed at the response.

"He is a very capable therapist and much of my recovery his due to him; but I didn't like his .. proposed treatment," he said, answering her unspoken question.

Pulling from her grip, Jarod retrieved the second glass from the banister and the lap top from the table then stepped around her and disappeared into the house. It was obvious that he didn't want to discuss the psychiatrist or anything related to the nightmares, and Emily was torn about whether or not to honor his feelings.

"What about Sydney?"

"What about him?" Jarod answered from the kitchen.

Frustrated, Emily angrily slid open the screen and took a step inside. "If you don't want to talk to Dr. Kelly, maybe you could talk to Sydney. He's always . ."

Before she could finish the statement, though, Jarod reappeared and handed her a fresh glass of lemonade. "How would he explain it, if someone overheard him talking to me? I won't put him in that position, Emily."

"You always found a way to talk to him before."

"That was another life, an entirely different game," he replied sadly. "I'm supposed to be dead now, so the same rules don't apply."

Straddling the chair he had occupied earlier, Jarod sat back and slipped the sunglasses in place. His tone and his body language told her, in no uncertain terms, that the subject was closed, but she had the unyielding urge to push him for a straight answer.

"Dad called this morning," she said, surprised to hear the words escape her lips.

Immediately, Jarod sat forward and yanked the sunglasses from his face. "What did he say?"

Emily placed her glass on the small table, and stood over him as she spoke. "Claire called to taunt them. She told Mom that she was taking 'Gemini' on a trip, and that, when she was sure Mom had suffered enough, she would call with her conditions for releasing him. When Mom demanded to talk to him, Claire threatened to turn him over to the Centre."

"Why didn't you call me?" he demanded, "I left my cell phone on . ."

"Because there was nothing you could do," she said, "There was nothing either of us could do. We have no idea where Claire is taking him, so all we can do is wait. Broots is trying to trace the call, and verify that the photo was real."

"What photo?"

"Claire emailed a picture of Adam, holding this morning's Chicago Tribune, as proof that he is all right."

"Adam won't be all right, until he's home," a voice said from behind.

In unison, Jarod and Emily turned to find Miss Parker staring at them from inside the house. When she had their attention, she slid open the screen and stepped on to the deck.

"I spoke with Broots," she continued, ignoring the startled expression on Jarod's face, "The photo is real and the call was made from Adam's cell phone. If Claire is stupid enough to use the same phone the next time she calls, he thinks he might be able to pinpoint the location within thirty miles."

"How did you get in here?"

"Jarod, relax," Emily whispered, reaching for his hand as he rose from the chair.

"I just want to know how she got inside," he countered, looking from his sister to the brunette, "I checked the front door when I refilled the drinks and it was locked."

"I gave her a key," Emily answered calmly, "I thought it made more sense for her to stay here than driving back and forth to her place."

"Is that so?" he dared, glaring at the younger woman. "You gave her a key to _**my**_ house."

"Yes."

Emily crossed her arms in front of her and held her brother's dark eyes with her own, daring him to argue the issue with her. Finally, Jarod turned away, shooting Miss Parker a disapproving look.

"I'm going for a run," he announced tightly, taking the eight steps in rapid succession.

"Jarod, wait."

"Let him go," Miss Parker said, taking Emily's arm and pulling her back as the Pretender broke into a slow jog on the beach, "He'll be back."

"When? Next month?" Emily shrugged out of the other woman's grasp and watched Jarod continue to put distance between them. "A short bike ride equated to more than eight hours, there's no telling how long . . ."

"Jarod is a big boy," she interrupted, turning back toward the house, "the sooner you start treating him like one, the better."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, for one thing, it means that you might want to start including him in decisions that effect him. Jarod is a grown man and this is his house. You know our relationship is - strained, why the hell would you invite me without telling him?"

"Because I thought, once he saw you, it would be easier to convince him that it's a good idea for you to be here."

"Well, if this was your idea of easy," Miss Parker sighed, stepping into the house, "I'm glad you didn't want things done the hard way."

TBC

My sincere thanks to all who have already sent me feedback. It is greatly appreciated- Lisa


	3. Chap 3

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II - Retribution  
Part 3  
by imagine

Jarod angled over the sand until he reached the waterline, then continued at a full run, all the time fighting the urge to look back. When the beach curved, taking him out of view of the house, he slowed, turned toward the water and plunged into the first wave. The shock of the cool water on his face, back and neck was enough to bring him up for air, but not enough to keep him there. He dove again, and again, fighting the pressure of the water on his lungs and forcing every muscle to concentrate on surviving the undertow.

It wasn't until his body and mind were numb from exhaustion that Jarod allowed himself to return to the shore. As he rose from the surf, however, content in the fatigue that had washed over him, his thoughts drifted from the sleep he so desperately craved to the brunette that was, once again, in his life.

As angry as he was with his sister for not consulting him, Jarod could not deny that a part of him was happy Miss Parker was back in his home. For as long as he could remember, she and Sydney had been the only constants in his life. They knew more about him than anyone, including his family, and, even when they were hunting him, he trusted that they cared about him. Hell, if he were completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that, for the first thirty odd years of his life, Sydney and Parker **_were_ **his family. When she left without explanation, he felt betrayed, angry and confused, but it didn't stop him from missing her.

Pulling the wet T-shirt over his head, he squeezed as much of the Pacific from its fabric and began up the wooden steps. The sun on his back felt good. He rolled his neck and let himself be comforted by the prickling of the sun on his wet skin, before reaching for the sliding door.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he answered, turning his back on her as he closed the door. He felt her hand on his arm and turned half way, refusing to face her, "Where's Parker?"

"Upstairs, in her room. Jarod, we need to talk."

"Later," he said, stepping away, "Right now, I'm tired and need to shower."

"I didn't mean to upset you," she said, softly.

"I know."

Through the reflection in the window, he watched his sister. Her eyes met his for only a moment, then anxiously darted around the room while one hand moved under her long hair and began massaging the muscles in her neck. He watched, realizing that the gestures she used were identical to the ones he used when he was frustrated or anxious. When she sighed and looked back at him, Jarod averted his gaze and moved toward the bedroom.

"Will you be eating dinner with us?"

There was such a hopeful tone in her voice that, reluctantly, Jarod nodded. In spite of everything that had happened, he still wanted his sister's visit to be as pleasant as possible. He still wanted her to be happy.

"I need to shower and shave first."

Emily watched quietly as her brother disappeared behind his bedroom door, wondering how she had managed to alienate him and what it would take to reverse her mistakes.

"He'll come around."

Startled, Emily turned to see the brunette push away from the foyer wall. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," she answered, reaching for her car keys.

"Where are you going? I thought the three of us were going to have dinner together."

"Change of plans," she replied, pulling open the front door, "I have some things to take care of. Don't wait up."

"Wait!" Emily rushed up to the woman and grabbed her by the arm. "Jarod thinks . . . "

"Jarod thinks I'm intruding. He needs time alone with you, Emily. He needs to find out who you are. It's what he's wanted since he discovered you existed. It's what he wanted when he invited you here. Let him have it. Let him have one thing that resembles a normal life. He deserves, at least, that much."

* * *

"Is he asleep?"

"Unconscious is a better word. That sedative is far from mild, by the way."

She watched Lyle cross the small area. He stopped where the boy was lying on a cot, facing the wall and slipped his hand under Adam's chin, gently wiping away the long strands of hair that covered the closed eyes. When he sat on the edge of the bed, still staring at the sleeping form, she crossed to his side and placed a firm hand on Lyle's shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Inspecting the merchandise," he said, without looking up, "to make sure he hasn't been damaged."

"Other than a few minor bruises, he's fine," she said. Leaning in front of Lyle, Claire purposely blocked his access to the boy. She pulled a thin blanket over Adam and tucked it under his chin. "In fact, he's been pretty cooperative."

"That, in itself, is suspicious. He's Jarod's clone, don't take anything he does at face value. You have to keep up with the regiment I outlined earlier, or he'll be useless to us in California."

"I still don't understand why we have to cross the country, we were perfectly safe where we were," she complained, looking down at the sleeping boy, "but, the brainwashing seems to be working the way you planned. He was so confused and exhausted when we sedated him for the trip, I almost felt sorry for him."

"Don't ever feel sorry for him."

She stared at him, watching him watch the boy for almost a full minute before telling him, "The car will be here soon to take us to the airport. Unless you want to risk being seen, you should be on your way."

"No one will see me," he answered, looking back at her.

"Probably not, but you don't really want to take that chance, do you?"

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to get rid of me."

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "Now why would I do that? Just because you've been harping about keeping the boy disoriented?"

"What does that have to do with anything? He's unconscious."

"Are you sure about that? He's Jarod's clone, remember?" she smiled. "Besides, isn't it better if he sees you for the first time, in new surroundings? When he makes the call to his mother . . ."

"No calls until I say so."

"Of course not," she answered quickly, waving her hand dismissively, "but I think we should revise the timetable. Waiting three days just seems like too long. If we . . . "

Lyle watched the woman step back, his eyes narrowing. "You aren't planning on betraying me again, are you?"

"I told you, all I want is what's rightfully mine. I want the disks."

"You'll get them," he answered, calmly rising from the bed, "as long as you do things my way. I want him kept isolated. There is to be no contact with his family, until I say so."

Backing her against the wall, he slid his gloved hand down the side of her face. Offering a thin menacing smile, he kept his touch soft and traced her features until his fingers curled under her chin. Then, leaning forward, he added pressure to her throat.

"You betrayed me once," he warned, "and, because of it, I lost Jarod, as well as nine months of my life in Africa. I endured things you have never dreamed of, for one reason and one reason only: so I could exact retribution on _everyone _who deserves it."

"The Triumvirate's decision . . . "

"The Triumvirate's decision was influenced by you," he spoke over her, adding more pressure to her throat. "I am not a fool, Claire. I know enough of what you told them to know not to trust you, but, like it or not, we need each other. You needed me to tell you how to find and control the boy, until you got your disks from his mother, and I needed you to retrieve him for me. Now that he's here, don't think about trying to outsmart me. It wouldn't be healthy."

With an angry jerk, Claire pushed the man away. Massaging her neck with one hand, she stepped around him. When she turned back, the Chairman's son had returned to the sleeping teen's side. Pulling back the blanket, he slipped one hand beneath the boy's shirt, letting it rest across the young man's belly and stared up at her defiantly.

"The boy belongs to me," he told her, "Don't ever forget that."

"Maybe it's time I share a few things with you," she growled, her tone hardening as she retrieved an automatic from the small of her back. "In case I haven't mentioned it, I happen to like the kid, so, as long as I'm taking the risks here, you're going to stay away from him."

"Oh, now that's gotta hurt. I mean, it's been so long since you've used those maternal instinct muscles, flexing them like that must be excruciating."

"I'm serious, Lyle," she warned, ignoring his sarcasm, "Until those disks are in my hands, the boy is mine. If you even think about forgetting that fact, he'll be taken to Blue Cove and all your grandiose plans will go right out the window."

Slowly drawing his hand from the boy, he rose to his feet and glared at the woman. "You do that, and not only will you not get your disks, but Margaret and the Major will become more dangerous. How do you think they would react, if they found out their precious baby boy was back in the Centre because of you?"

"About the same as they're going to react when they find out I've given him to you," she spat. "I have nothing to lose, as far as they're concerned. On the other hand, Hon, you should be worried about the Triumvirate's reaction when I tell them you tried to buy the boy from me, with the intention of picking up where you left off with Jarod. They still have not forgiven you for causing the death of their prized Pretender and I can guarantee that, with my help, the next punishment they choose will make your time in Africa seem like an excursion to Club Med."

She tightened her grip on the gun when Lyle's jaw clenched in anger and warned, "Stay away from the kid."

* * *

Miss Parker tossed her keys onto the kitchen bar and made her way through the small apartment without breaking her stride. Pulling at the balcony door, she stepped outside and leaned against the warm metal railing, her eyes focused on the horizon. The sun was low in the sky, preparing to disappear into the sea, but the sight did not keep her attention. Her eyes dropped to the beach, following the coast for as far as she could, knowing that Jarod's house was only a few miles beyond the buildings that blocked her view.

After escaping the cabin, she had spent almost every waking minute with Jarod. For months, they had shared a rocky spot on his beach at exactly this time, every night. Armed with nothing stronger than a bottle of sparkling water and a blanket, they would perch themselves on the largest rock and wordlessly watch the day end. The peaceful silence that enveloped them during those few minutes had made it her favorite part of the day until she no longer had him to share it with.

When she returned to the apartment, her eyes fell on the folders that were strewn across the small desk. Immediately, images of Jarod lying unconscious on the hospital room floor, at Lyle's mercy, invaded her thoughts and she turned away. She crossed into the kitchen, splashed two fingers of Scotch into a crystal tumbler and swallowed the drink in one gulp. Though she knew the alcohol would not completely erase the memory, the burning sensation was enough to deaden the guilt.

With a fresh drink in her hand, she slowly returned to the desk and somberly fingered the documents. Not a day went by that she wasn't haunted by her brother's violation of Jarod but, not once, had she told the Pretender what she witnessed. Unfortunately, from the moment of their escape, he viewed her as his confidant. Though she desperately wanted to support his recovery, the more he confided in her about his nightmares, the more he talked to her as a method of untangling reality and fantasy, the more she wanted to confess. The partial images he shared with her combined with the images that were already burned in her mind and, each time, she came closer to the brink of madness.

It was bad enough that he might remember the assault on his own, but the weight of the guilt she carried because, at the time, he had been trying to help her was overwhelming. She wanted to scream at him to shut up, to tell him that she knew exactly what Lyle had done and to beg his forgiveness for not being able to stop it. She wanted to be strong enough to let him blame her, yet she was afraid of seeing the pain in his eyes, of hearing anger, accusation or, worse, forgiveness in his voice. So, she kept her memories to herself while he tried to fill in the blanks of his.

When the time came that she could no longer watch Jarod's struggles with his visions, or hear him cry out in the middle of the night, Miss Parker made up her mind to leave. Telling herself that she was useless while in his house, she decided that, on the outside, she could find a way to make his life easier, safer.

Unable to make herself say good bye, to his face, she had left a note on his bedside table. She hoped that, some day, he would forgive her for that sin, too.

_I'm sorry, Jarod, but I have to try to make things right so we can both have a normal life._

Turning away from the documents, she looked out the window. When the sun was gone, she swallowed the last of her drink.

It had been almost six months since she decided that disappearing from his life was the best thing for both of them and, until now, she had never second-guessed herself. She didn't particularly like the feeling.

* * *

A normal life. The words seemed to hang in the air, making Emily awkwardly unsure of everything she said and did during dinner. Anxiety took hold of her brain and, without reason, she found herself refusing to let silence fall between them while dodging topics about Jarod's therapy, Miss Parker or Adam's kidapping. The mere suggestion of any of these subjects made her babble on about articles she'd read in magazines or question her brother about the joys of living by the ocean and the details of his various adventures.

Throughout dinner, Jarod was polite and participated in the odd dialogues as best he could. By the time they had finished eating, however, Jarod's confusion was obvious. Emily knew she had made the evening much more strained than it should have been.

"Did Dad call again?" he asked, "Did something happen that you're not telling me?"

She heard the concern in his voice and shaking her head, offered him a small smile. "No."

"Something is bothering you."

Jarod waited, watching his sister clear their plates and turn away before he stood and moved behind her in the kitchen. Sliding the platter that held the remnants of their broiled fish dinner onto the counter, he looked down at the woman but before he could say anything, she averted her eyes and moved into the living room.

"I rented a couple of old movies this afternoon," she told him, sliding the cases from the top of the television. "One is a comedy, the other is a thriller. I wasn't sure which you would prefer and I don't know if you've seen either of them, but they got good reviews."

"Em, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she smiled. Then, handing him the DVD cases, she moved back into the kitchen, "Here, you pick the movie and I'll get us something to drink. You don't want popcorn, do you? I have ice cream for desert but I thought we'd just have drinks now. Is that okay?"

He glanced blindly at the boxes in his hand then slid them onto the table. From her spot in the kitchen, Emily frowned but dropped her eyes when he tried to meet them. Filling two wine glasses, she left the bottle on the counter and handed her brother his drink.

"If you don't want to watch a movie, we can do something else. I saw a deck of cards . . . "

"I want you to talk to me," he said.

"Isn't that what we've been doing?"

"Not even close. Tell me what's bothering you."

Releasing a deep sigh, Emily sipped from her glass and moved toward the sofa. "What would we be doing, if things had gone as planned? If Claire hadn't taken Adam, and it was just you and me, what would we be doing?"

"I don't know," he admitted, still confused by her demeanor.

"Answer the question. You invited me here, Jarod. You must have had some idea of how we would spend our time together."

"I suppose I did but it seems like a lifetime ago. Why does it matter?"

Ignoring his bewilderment, she abruptly reached for the stack of periodicals on the coffee table. "Would you be telling me why you have newspapers and magazines that are over a month old?"

Crossing to her side, he took the pile and shook his head. "There's nothing to tell. I just never got around to throwing them out."

"You're lying," she said softly.

Placing the newspapers on the floor, at the edge of the sofa, Jarod looked at his sister. "What?"

"I can see it in your face, Jarod. You're lying to me."

"You're imagining things."

"I don't think so. What is so important about a bunch of . . . ?"

Suddenly, her eyes widened and met his. Standing, Emily quickly moved to the desk, reached inside the drawer, and pulled out the small red notebook she'd seen earlier. She flipped through the empty pages, moving away when Jarod reached for her.

"I don't know why I didn't realize it earlier. The newspapers. The notebook. You're planning a pretend."

"Just because I have a red notebook in the house, doesn't mean . . . "

Dropping the binder on the desk, she pushed past him and grabbed the newspaper on top of the pile. She pointed at the lead article and held it so he could see it.

"This story is about the first victim and the one in that paper is about the second," she said, pointing to the pile at her feet. "You were doing research. You were trying to figure out what connected them, why the killer chose them, weren't you?"

"Em, you don't know what you're talking about."

"Jennifer Forrest. Rose Barber. Susan Pearce."

She called out the names as she shuffled through several of the publications, "All these women were killed the same way. They were beaten, raped and then strangled in the early hours of the morning." Her words were tumbling out at a manic pace and her hands were shaking. "Is that why leave the house so early? Are you hoping to prevent . . . ?"

"Emily, that's enough," he growled. Taking the stack of papers from her, he flung them across the room and grabbed her arm. "Do you hear yourself? Three women are dead. They had friends and families, one of the women had two small children. There are people mourning for these women, wondering if there was something they could have done differently, and trying to come to terms with the fact that they will never see them again. They were real people with real lives and you're acting like they were fictional characters from some mystery novel. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Startled by his anger, Emily took a few steps back, adding distance between them as her eyes searched his. After a moment, she sank into the cushions of the sofa and covered her face with trembling hands.

She suddenly looked so small, so young and confused, that Jarod felt all his frustration drain away. Taking the seat beside her, he slid his arm across her back. He winced when he felt her tense but, with a gentle tug, pulled Emily into his chest.

"You have been acting odd all night," he whispered, "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"Everything," she murmured. "Adam is missing, you're having nightmares and Miss Parker has alienated herself. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be and I don't know what to do to make it right."

"It is not your job to make everything right."

"Whose job is it? I was just trying to give you one normal night. That's all. I thought if we pretended that everything was the way it's supposed to be, maybe . . . "

"Maybe it would be," he finished. Softly stroking her hair, he shook his head. "I wish it worked that way, Em."

She sighed and shook her head. "You must think I'm a lunatic."

Refusing to release her when she tried to pull away, Jarod held his sister until she relaxed.

"I love you," he promised, "and, for the record, you are not a lunatic. You are a woman who cares deeply for those around her. Right now, you are scared for Adam, for me and for Parker. If wanting everything to be normal, and everyone we love to be safe is a sign of lunacy, then move over because I'm having the same symptoms."

Looking up at him, she raised an eyebrow and offered him a half smile. "No offense, Big Brother, but that's not very comforting."

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead, then slowly let his arms drop. "I want to find Adam as badly as you do, you have to believe me. The thought that he might have to go through the same things I did, that someone might . . . "

"Jarod, I believe you. That's not the issue," she interrupted, placing her hand gently on his arm. "You haven't slept more than a few hours since I've been here, and I'm starting to get scared. Tell me where you go every morning. Please, tell me what you're doing and let me help."

She watched him, half expecting him to tell her everything was all right and that she shouldn't worry. Instead, Jarod reached down and lifted the red notebook from the floor. Flipping through the empty pages, he released a heavy sigh and tossed the book onto the coffee table.

"I have nightmares," he whispered. "Nightmares about these women, about Adam, about me. I am just trying to do what I was trained to do. I'm trying to get some control over the situation and do what is best for everyone."

* * *

It was just before midnight, Pacific Time, when the van pulled up to the dock. She dismissed the guards, ordering them to retrieve the wheelchair and make sure everything was ready on the ship, then moved to where the boy was sleeping. During the four hour flight and the subsequent drive from the air field, he had been woken roughly twice; this time, she thought he deserved better treatment.

"Come on, Hon," she murmured, shaking him gently, "open your eyes."

He stirred against the soft leather, a mild protest escaping his throat as his dark eyes slowly appeared. After allowing the boy a moment to scan his surroundings, she gripped his left hand tightly, drawing his eyes to the intertwined fingers while her free arm slipped under his back and gently pulled him to a sitting position. Pleased that he did not offer any resistance, she praised the boy with a soft pet of his cheek and told him he was home.

"Home?" he repeated, hopefully.

"Your new home," she corrected. Then, before he had a chance to process the words, Claire lifted a bottle of water to his lips and continued in a soft, monotone, "Now, take a sip of this. It will make you feel better."

She allowed him a few swallows of the warm drink before pulling it away, telling him he'd had enough. The boy nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving her face.

"You can have more, later," she promised, signaling the two guards, "but, right now, we need to get you settled."

His eyes darted from the woman to the two large men as they appeared and, immediately, Adam recoiled. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, his breathing accelerated and, despite the woman's assurance that he was all right, the teen struggled when the guards wrapped their beefy arms around him and pulled him from the vehicle.

"Relax, Hon," she said, following at a respectable distance, "no one is going to hurt you."

Despite the movement of his legs beneath him, Adam knew he didn't have the strength to hold his own weight even if his mind had been clear enough to formulate an escape. By the time the two guards crossed the parking lot and descended the cement steps to the dock, he was as exhausted as he was confused. They dropped him into the waiting wheelchair and growled unnecessary warnings for him to remain still as they strapped him into the device. The boy raised his face to the warm breeze, listened to the echo of the woman's heels behind him and stared blindly at the waiting ship named **_Retribution._**

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	4. Chap 4

Disclaimer in part 1

**Survival II: Retribution  
****Part 4  
**

Day Three:

By the time Miss Parker returned to the beach house, it was after two in the morning. She found Jarod and Emily on the sofa, the Pretender gently cradling his sleeping sister against his chest. He was silent as she crossed the foyer, waiting until the brunette hung her jacket in the closet before looking down at his sister and slowly slipping his body from the cushions.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, keeping her voice low.

"You didn't."

Miss Parker nodded and stepped into the kitchen. Though she wasn't thirsty, she pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and, not bothering with a glass, took a long swallow before moving back into the living room.

When she appeared in the doorway, he turned and crouched beside the sofa. "I'm going to take Emily up to her room. I did not invite my sister to visit so she could sleep on the couch two nights in a row."

Jarod slid his arms beneath the sleeping woman and gently pulled her closer. Emily responded, lazily rolling toward his chest, then abruptly stiffened and pushed him away. Panic flashed across her face as she wiggled out of his arms and back to the sofa, quickly pulling herself as far away from him as she was able. Her eyes widened with confusion for only a moment, until her sleepy mind cleared and identified her brother.

"You scared the crap out me, Jarod," she barked. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and looked up at him. "You're not the only member of this family who sleeps lightly."

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting beside her, "I thought I could get you upstairs without you waking."

"Well, you were wrong," she snapped. Then, taking another deep breath, Emily forced a smile and patted his hand. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean to frighten me, Jarod. What time is it?"

"Quarter after two," Miss Parker replied.

Startled by the voice, Emily noticed the woman for the first time and smiled. "Good morning, Miss Parker. When did you get back?"

"A few minutes ago."

Emily frowned and was about to ask where she had been when a yawn interrupted her. It was deep and long. As she tried to shake it off, her eyes watered. She felt Jarod's arm slip around her shoulder then slide down her back.

"You're beat," he said, pulling her up as he stood, "I'll take you to your room."

On her feet, Emily shrugged out of her brother's light touch and shook her head. "I'm perfectly capable of getting to bed all by myself, Jarod. However, considering your sleep habits, or lack of them, maybe _I _should be showing _you_ where _your_ room is."

"Cute."

With a quick smile, Emily kissed her brother on the cheek and started up the stairs.

Sitting at the dining table, Miss Parker drank her water and silently listened to the exchange between brother and sister. When she looked up, Jarod was standing at the foot of the steps, staring at her. He said nothing for a long moment, then took a deep breath and started across the room.

"Turn out the lights when you decide to go to bed."

"Where are you going?"

"My room," he replied, sarcastically, "That is, if it's all right with you."

"I was hoping we could talk. I learned something tonight that you should know, before anyone else finds out." She waited, watching him closely when he stopped at his bedroom door. Quickly shifting into a challenging tone, she raised an eyebrow and added, "But, if you would prefer your parents find out first, I suppose it can wait until morning."

"Parker, if you know something about Adam or where Claire is keeping him," he warned, turning toward her, "you had better tell me now because, so help me . . . "

"At what point in the last six months did you become a moron?" He was standing in front of her, his eyes burrowing into hers with a fierce, but silent demand for an explanation. "If I knew where Adam was, I'd tell you. Hell, if I knew where he was, I would have gone to get him by now."

Though he couldn't force himself to admit that what she was saying was true, he felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. His mind quickly ran through a list of subjects she might need to discuss, and, a moment later, he crossed his arms in front of him and took a defiant stand. Refusing to allow the fantasies he'd indulged in, on and off for six months, temper his feelings, Jarod summoned every negative memory he had of the woman and glared at her.

"Then, what is it? What's so important that you have to talk to me alone?"

She heard the tension in his voice and, in spite of herself, Miss Parker felt her own defensive walls rise. Determined not to revert to her old habits of fight or flight, she turned away and set the water bottle on the counter behind her. While she struggled to keep her composure, her eyes fell on the two empty bottles of wine next to the sink. Reaching over, she lifted the closest and faced him.

"So, have you given up on the meds or just decided to live a little dangerously?"

"People can change a lot in six months. When you left, you gave up the right to know anything about my life," he growled. Taking the bottle from her, he slammed it onto the counter and grabbed the woman by her shoulders, his dark eyes instantly locking onto hers in annoyance. "You said you had something important to tell me; now, stop stalling and tell me."

"Let go of me," she demanded, pushing him away as she stepped back.

Grabbing the back of a nearby chair to steady himself, he glared at her. "Tell me."

"It's Lyle," she blurted angrily. Then, in a softer tone added, "He's no longer in Africa."

She saw him tighten his grip on the chair and her eyes traveled over his face, watching his frustration melt into confusion. "Lyle is back in the States, Jarod. He's been back for almost two months."

"That's impossible. I hack into the Centre mainframe regularly," he confessed, looking up at her as he slowly dropped into the chair, "There has never been any mention of his return."

Pulling a chair to his side of the table, she sat so they were face to face but found herself feeling self conscious when their eyes met. Reaching into the back pocket of her pants, she said, "I've had Broots checking regularly, too. After Adam was taken, he took it upon himself to break into Raines' office." When Jarod looked at her skeptically, she smiled. "Apparently, you're not the only one who has changed. Anyway, Broots found a file that confirmed Lyle's retraining completed on July 15th and called me this afternoon."

Miss Parker held a folded page toward Jarod. When the Pretender reached out, hesitantly, she explained, "Lyle was being kept in the Renewal Wing until the beginning of this month, when the Triumvirate decided he was 'worthy' of being released on his own recognizance. Broots sent me a copy of the list of visitors."

"Short list."

"The only people who knew where he was, were those with a need; besides, my brother doesn't exactly have an overabundance of friends."

"Raines, your father and Cox seem to be the only . . . " Jarod's voice faded as the name appearing twice, at the bottom of the page, caught his eye. "Claire James."

* * *

"You're sure he'll be there?"

"Positive. He has never let me down."

"Well, for your sake, you had better pray he doesn't start now. I'll be there in a few hours and I expect a full demonstration."

Abruptly, Lyle disconnected the call and slid the flip phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. Glancing at his watch, he moved past the van, heading confidently for the ship. Right now, he had his own demonstration to conduct.

* * *

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Jarod admitted, raking his fingers through his hair, "Lyle was the first person I thought of, when I was told Adam was taken."

"We don't know, for sure, that they're working together."

He let out a short, humorless laugh and rose from the chair. "Of course we do. Claire wants the disks my mother has, and Lyle, thinking I'm dead, wants Adam."

She wanted to reassure him, to tell him they would find the boy before he experienced any of the same torment Jarod had experienced at Lyle's hand, but the words wouldn't come. He moved to the patio doors and stared into the darkness a moment, then slid open one door and stepped onto the deck. Silently, she followed, knowing they had more to discuss.

"Do my parents know?"

"Not yet. I told Broots to wait until tomorrow morning."

He smiled and glanced at her over his shoulder. "They're three hours ahead of us, Parker. It is tomorrow morning."

"This is Broots we're talking about," she countered with a raised eyebrow, "You don't really think he's going to tell them over morning coffee, do you? No one changes that much in six months."

"Do we know where Lyle is, or when the last time he was with Claire?"

"Broots will call as soon as he has compiled updated information," she said, moving next to him. "When I talked to him, all he knew, for sure, was that Lyle has permission to go wherever he wants as long as he checks in periodically."

"What the hell does that mean? The Centre and Lyle are operating on the honor system?"

"You know as much as I do," she shrugged.

Looking back at the half moon, he took a deep breath. "Unbelievable."

* * *

Boarding the ship without being noticed proved to be easier than he expected. The guards were not, by any stretch of the imagination, on par with even the worst Sweeper employed by the Centre. Easily distracted by sounds he manufactured with the toss of a stone, the large men not only unwittingly let him slip by, but managed to secure their futures on a Coroner's slab. Under the circumstances, he could abide a fair amount of flexibility in the security; however, he had too much at stake for out and out incompetence.

The door to the boy's cabin was locked, but quickly jimmied open. As soon as he heard the latch release, Lyle smiled at the knife that had served him so loyally in the past and slipped it into an easily accessible pocket of his jacket.

The only light in the room was provided by the moon outside and, when the door closed, the light disappeared. As Lyle's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he followed the steady breaths coming from the far side of the cabin. Silently, he approached the twin-sized bed and stood menacingly over its occupant, allowing his hostility toward the boy and his prototype build to an explosive level.

By intentionally providing the tip that led to Jarod's capture, as well as unwittingly developing LR17, the drug used to mold Jarod into the submissive pet he was meant to be, the boy had been Lyle's accomplice from the start. Unfortunately, he was also the reason the Pretender was rescued, given an antidote and was currently recovering from the ordeal. Lyle had no intention of letting the misdeeds to go unpunished.

Lunging forward, he slapped his hand over the boy's mouth. The dark eyes shot open, and while he strained against the sedative in his veins, as well as the darkness around him, Jarod's clone was pulled from the bed. The teen let out a muffled cry, and Lyle laughed. Keeping himself positioned behind the young man, he brought his mouth beside his prisoner's ear and whispered, "Hello, Gemini."

The sound of Lyle's voice spurred an instinct to struggle in Adam. He grabbed the gloved hand that gagged him and pulled desperately at the fingers, scratching at the leather while trying to pry them away from his nose and mouth. He felt Lyle's arm tighten around his waist, felt the man's chest against his back and increased his efforts, trying to fill his lungs with the little bit of air Lyle would allow through his fingers.

"You betrayed me," he whispered, dragging the young man across the room. "You handed Jarod over to me and told me you wanted his place in the Major's life. Then, you changed your mind and helped him escape."

He felt the tears welling in his eyes, heard his heart pounding in his ears and found himself praying for someone, anyone, to interrupt the attack. His body was slammed against the wall, face first, and held in place, more by Lyle's anger than his body, as the older man continued his tirade.

"You wanted Jarod's life. Well, now you've got it. With me."

Keeping the frightened boy anchored to the wall with one arm, he used the other to hold the silver blade of the pocket knife in front of his face. Adam's dark eyes widened and the new shot of fear brought renewed struggles as Lyle loosened his grip long enough to flip his captive to his back.

The movement was abrupt but the boy had little time to let out a cry of surprise before the gloved hand adhered itself across his mouth. Still pressed against the wall, Adam released another helplessly muffled cry, refusing to close his eyes even when edge of the knife ran threateningly down the side of his face and neck.

His mouth was dry and his eyes were blurry with tears, but he forced himself to keep his gaze on his attacker's face. The fabric of his shirt was ripped and as it fell away, the cold tip of the knife lightly traced the letter L on his bare shoulder. Though he did not draw blood, Lyle added more pressure to the blade while his hand slowly slipped from the boy's mouth. Adam winced and a small smile emerged on Lyle's face.

"Tell me who you are."

Adam knew the proper response. He knew the words that Jarod had been forced to repeat countless times during his captivity. But, whether it was because of the drugs in his system or the sheer panic that had taken over him, he could not find his voice. Desperate, he let his eyes dart away from Lyle's, only to bring them back with a whimper of pain when the knife punctured his skin.

"Tell me who you are," Lyle repeated, his voice taking on a tone that was somehow more dangerous than before.

"I - I am your - - your property," he stammered, licking his lips nervously as felt the blood drip down his arm, "Yours to do with as -- you -- you see f-fit."

Releasing the tension on the knife, but not removing it from the wound, Lyle patted the boy's face. "Good boy. Now, I want you to remember that, as my property, I can, and will, do anything I want, whenever I want," he warned, "No one can stop me."

"Don't be so sure about that. Let him go."

He heard the click of her gun readying and glanced over his shoulder at the woman. With a quick smile in her direction, Lyle turned back to the boy and pressed the knife deeper into the shoulder. The teen squirmed in pain but made no sound and, when the blade finally folded into its silver and onyx handle, Lyle whispered, "You belong to me. I am the one you will always ultimately obey."

Tears ran silently down the side of Adam's face, but he did not make an attempt to dry them, nor did he drop his eyes. He heard Claire warn Lyle again, telling him that he had no claim until the disks were hers, and saw the man's face harden. A split second later, Adam was pulled away from the wall and positioned between Lyle and the woman. The blade of the knife was suddenly open and pinching the skin under his chin.

"Tell her who you are," Lyle demanded, yanking a handful of the teen's hair.

With his head positioned upward, supported by Lyle's shoulder, Adam softly repeated the mantra. He said it twice, prompted the second time by a tug of his hair and, when he was done, Adam watched Claire slowly lower her gun.

"You belong to me now, Gemini," Lyle whispered hotly, "Don't ever forget it."

Pushed roughly aside, Adam fell just inches short of the mattress but pulled himself against the wall. He drew his hand to the fresh injury and stared at his attacker in fear. Lyle held the gaze a moment then looked directly at Claire and said, "And don't you ever tell me to stay away from my property."

* * *

They stood outside a few minutes more, staring silently at the shoreline. Each considered Lyle's role in Adam's kidnaping as well as the assumed partnership with Claire; each worried about the boy's welfare and tried to decide on their next course of action. When Miss Parker finally returned to the house, Jarod followed, only to immediately disappear into his room.

Staring at the closed door for a few moments, she sighed, turned out the lights and retreated to her own room, on the second floor. The balcony door was open and the breeze from the ocean called to her as she entered. After changing into a blue silk nightgown and matching robe, Miss Parker crossed to the window. Unlike the stale, polluted wind that blew into her apartment, the sea air that filled Jarod's house was crisp and salty, a fact that had gotten lost in her memories.

Leaning on the railing, she thought about the explanation Jarod had not demanded. She thought about the files still locked in her apartment and hoped that, when the time came to share them with Jarod, she would be able to explain their significance.

She could hear Jarod's fidgety movements in the room below hers, knowing he was working off the anxiousness and fear he had refused to acknowledge earlier. A year ago, she would have gone to him and forced a discussion or, in their case, an argument, to distract or calm his thoughts but, today, she decided it was best to keep her distance. Jarod had survived six months without her, he could survive one more night.

Once in bed, she tossed and turned, his restlessness becoming hers as the night wore on. Her thoughts jumped from Adam to Lyle to Jarod quickly and without reason until, finally, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the exhaustion. The sky was still dark, but the birds were beginning their morning calls when she heard the motor of the garage door. Suddenly, she was wide awake and, in a matter of seconds, she was out of bed and down the stairs. When she arrived at the entrance to the garage, she saw Jarod's SUV, with his bike mounted like a satellite dish on the roof, turning from the driveway to the road.

"Where the hell is he going at this hour?"

"Probably the same place he went yesterday," Emily answered. Waiting until Miss Parker turned to face her, she added, "If he follows the same pattern, he should be back around four this afternoon."

* * *

"It's okay, Hon, he's gone."

Laying the tray on the night table, she helped him from the floor to the mattress. He was still trembling when she pulled the blanket to his chest but his eyes were steady and his face was set in a determined scowl.

Gently, she pulled his hand away from the shoulder and inspected the deep cut. With a soft cluck of her tongue, she retrieved a wet rag from the bowl on the tray and pressed it carefully against the injury, forcing herself to ignore his heavy stare.

"Why are you doing this?"

"It will get infected if I don't," she replied, reaching for the bottle of peroxide.

"You know what I mean. You're never going to let me go home, are you?"

When she didn't respond, he turned his eyes toward the porthole and laid against the pillow. He waited until she finished wiping the wound, until she was no longer touching him, before he spoke again. His voice was filled with the emotion he couldn't swallow.

"Please, don't do this. Please."

She reached over and taped the bandage in place, then silently slid from the bed. Handing the medical supplies to one of the guards, she ordered him to bring the next meal and, when he was gone, she faced the boy. Adam's gaze was on the few clouds and slice of emerging light he could see from the bed. Remembering Lyle's directive that the boy be kept unaware of time, she considered fastening the shutter but, after watching him a moment, changed her mind. The least the boy deserved was to see the sun.

"You'll feel better after you eat."

"You mean, after you drug me again," he whispered, facing her. "That is what you're doing, isn't it? You're sedating me every time I eat or drink so I have no idea what's real and what's not."

When she didn't respond, Adam sighed, shook his head. "Well, it's working, just not well enough. I may not know where I am, how long I've been here or why you're doing this, but I remember what happened to Jarod and I know Lyle will do the same to me."

"If you want, I'll stay with you in case Lyle decides to make a return visit."

"All I want is to go home, to my family," he said softly, turning back to the window, "If you're not going to let that happen, then it doesn't matter if Lyle turns up again or not."

* * *

It took almost an hour to reach the cabin and when he finally arrived, Lyle found a green Trek mountain bike perched just inside the front door. Pleased, he engaged the deadbolt, shutting out the early sounds of morning, before entering the main part of the house.

With his hands folded patiently in his lap, the Pretender was positioned stiffly at the edge of the sofa. His blue shorts and a long sleeve light gray T-shirt were stained with sweat - evidence of the exertion required to bicycle to the cabin; however, he was clean shaven, and, the dirt his body must have produced on the trail had been washed away. Except for the length of Jarod's dark hair, which brushed the tops of his shoulders, Lyle decided the Pretender's appearance was acceptable.

"Hello, Jarod."

When his voice garnered no reaction, Lyle raised one eyebrow, and crouched in front of the man. Catching Jarod's jaw between his fingers, he repeated the greeting and searched the dark eyes for a hint of recognition before turning toward the man at the top of the stairs.

"Does he know I'm here?"

"On the most basic of levels, yes; however, Jarod won't react unless I tell him to."

"Really?"

Descending the stairs slowly, the man nodded.

With only a quick, evil grin as warning, Lyle struck the Pretender across the face with the back of his hand. Like a rubber doll, Jarod's head snapped to the left and then slowly came back to center. A red mark appeared on his cheek, marking the unprovoked blow, but Jarod's expression remained impassive. He made no attempt to defend himself or voice an objection.

"I've managed to build on the work you did with him last year. It didn't take long to find the right combination of medications to make him susceptible to my suggestions. The biggest delay was convincing him to take them but, once that was accomplished, I was able to train Jarod to retreat into his mind - his refuge - on command. The further inside himself I send him, the more I'm able to manipulate his actions."

"Does he know who I am?"

Stepping beside Lyle, the man looked directly at the Pretender and said, "Jarod, I want you to nod if you can hear me."

Jarod nodded.

"We have a visitor. I want you to look at him. Tell me who our visitor is and when you were with him last."

Dark, vacant eyes slid from one man to the other and, in a tired voice, the Pretender replied, "This is Mr. Lyle. We were in a fire at his cabin, last year."

"Thank you, Jarod," the handler grinned. "Return to you refuge. I will call you, if you are needed."

Dismissed, the man dropped his gaze, once again appearing to be oblivious to his surroundings.

Curious, Lyle began a slow circle around the sofa, watching the man he had once held captive. He knew, better than anyone, that Jarod required special handling, special threats and punishments to keep him in line. He also knew that Jarod's superior abilities as a pretender made him dangerous. Jarod was a chameleon, able to adapt to situations in a split second, able to deceive those around him until he could use the situation to his own advantage. Jarod was a trained liar and, as such, every breath, every word was suspect.

In the past, Lyle had underestimated Jarod's abilities and, as a result, had provided the Pretender an opportunity to betray him and keep him from obtaining the power and wealth he deserved. Lyle was not about to let history repeat itself. Jarod needed motivation to cooperate, motivation to accept his place as Lyle's subordinate and want for nothing more. He required motivation that Lyle had dreamed about dispensing for almost a year.

Wrapping his hand in the man's dark hair, he viciously pulled the compliant man to his back on the sofa. Leaning forward, he placed his knee at the center of Jarod's chest to support himself, pressing his hand over the man's mouth and nose.

"Tell him not to struggle," he ordered.

"I don't have to," the other man answered, glancing worriedly between the two, "Jarod does not view you as a threat. I thought that was obvious by his lack of reaction when he saw you."

"Nothing is obvious, when it comes to Jarod."

His eyes locked on the Pretender's, waiting for the man's instinct to resist, for the chance to prove his dominance but, instead of struggling, the body beneath him began to respond to the lack of oxygen. He felt a hand on his arm and heard Jarod's handler yelling at him to stop, but Lyle pressed harder, silently daring his captive to fight.

When the Pretender's taut muscles become slack, Lyle finally stepped back. He calmly paced the length of the room, watching as Jarod was revived by his handler. The pretender gasped and coughed, the handler soothed and coaxed, and Lyle considered the actions of both.

"What are you thinking? You could have killed him," the man spat.

"It wouldn't have been the first time."

The man glared at Lyle, then turned away.

"Explain to me why he didn't defend himself."

Trying desperately to compose himself, he reminded himself that working with Jarod, having the opportunity to put his theories about the human mind to the test, was possible because of Lyle. Lyle was intelligent, resourceful, manipulative and volatile. If he wanted to continue his research, if he wanted to keep Jarod, he had to keep Lyle informed. If he wanted to live, he had to keep Lyle happy.

Keeping his eyes on his subject's still erratic breaths, he rose from the sofa and moved to his employer's side. "When he initially succumbs to my suggestions, I give him a command that is worded to give me the measure of control I need or want. Before you arrived, I told him to surrender to me completely. So, in his current state, he has to be given explicit instructions for even the most basic of tasks, including when to stand when to sit. The only instincts that will continue, without my instruction, are things such as swallowing, breathing and blinking. He didn't defend himself, because I didn't tell him to do so."

Lyle scowled and narrowed his eyes. "What happens if you do not tell him to surrender?"

"He retains all his cognitive and reasoning skills and is the Jarod you know. I've found that telling him to obey, rather than surrender, usually provides optimum results. It gives him enough command of his senses that he can carry out a task, but not enough to make him question it."

"Are you telling me that, after all this time, all you've managed to do is hypnotize him?"

"Not quite. Under hypnosis, Jarod would disobey a command that goes against his moral code. With my method of training, that choice is being stripped from his subconscious. In time, he will obey every command given to him, without question."

"In time?"

"His training has just begun," the man replied, studying Jarod's submissive posture as he spoke, "Until I have had the opportunity to work with him more intensely, I expect he will, initially, show a reluctance to carry out certain orders. His hesitation, however, will then be used to manipulate his mind into believing he is not opposed to whatever act he had been ordered to perform. So, the next time . . . "

"And how long can he stay in this state?" Lyle interrupted, circling Jarod. Once again, the pretender was taking even breaths and staring innocently at his own hands, seemingly oblivious to any other presence in the room.

"Until he hears the phrase to release him."

Lyle looked at the handler, over his shoulder. "And he won't remember a thing, afterward?"

"Obviously leaving large blanks in his memory might prompt questions, so, I've allowed Jarod to remember certain things while burying those that could be detrimental to your cause. I've also taken the liberty of building fictitious memories, to fill in some of the time. They should help explain away any questions that might arise and make him more malleable."

Lyle's eyes slid back to Jarod's, smiling at the thought of what was to come. Soon, he would have the key to controlling his pretender forever. "It's a shame he won't remember meeting me today."

"I could arrange for that to happen. I've already allowed him to recall pieces of traumatic events he's experienced, in a dream state. They fade when he's awake, leaving him with only the fear and flashes of images he cannot identify. It's rather confusing for him, but it is effective."

"Confuse him all you want, just don't damage him," Lyle warned, gently tipping Jarod's head back to study the deep lines on the man's face. "I am the only one allowed to do that."

"Of course."

"Now, what happened yesterday?" he asked, abruptly turning away from the Pretender.

"Jarod came here on his own, for the first time. Considering the phobias he has developed in the last year, his visit was completely unexpected," the man admitted.

"Nothing Jarod does should ever be unexpected. For months, I have been paying you a ridiculous amount of money to rummage around in that oversized brain of his. By now, you should know something of how it works. If you don't, then you're useless to me," Lyle growled, pacing again.

"I understand," he answered. "However, after a short session, Jarod does not even remember that he was considering the visit. He believes he spent the day biking."

Lyle stopped pacing. From the edge of the room, he alternated his gaze between Jarod and the doctor for a few moments. "How do I know Jarod isn't pretending? I want a demonstration."

Without hesitation, the man answered confidently, "Any time. Jarod is at your disposal."

"Of course he is. Bring him outside," Lyle ordered, as he headed for the door. "Jarod is about to have his first field test."

TBC


	5. Chap 5

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II: Retribution  
Part 5

Sunlight, still too new to offer warmth, streamed into the East Side of the house while he stood in the shadows, enveloped in a cold calm he did not question. She slept peacefully, taking deep and regular breaths until music from the clock radio woke her with a start. After burying her head in the pillow for an extra moment, she stretched languidly then rolled from the mattress.

Unseen, he slid behind the door of the spare room.

She began her day cheerfully, humming softly to the song on the radio as she continued into the bathroom. Soon, he heard running water and a second radio belting out the same station as the one in the bedroom. When she emerged from the smaller room, her head bobbed in time with the music and, though she did not make a sound, she energetically mouthed the words of the song.

After pulling on a pair of gray jogging shorts and a white spandex shirt that accentuated her tan, muscular form, she sat on the bed. When she leaned forward to tie the laces of her running shoes, her red hair cascaded carelessly over her face. Without a thought, the woman gathered the long locks and fashioned them into a loose ponytail as she stood and moved into the hall, still oblivious to his presence.

He felt a soft rush of air in her wake, caught a faint scent of soap and a glimpse of the rose that adorned her shoulder. Moments later, the tattoo was covered by a gray hooded jacket but he'd seen it long enough to lock away the image in his mind.

* * *

He stirred under a cool breeze and rolled toward the soft sunlight before he was reminded that, up until now, he'd been kept in darkness. His eyes shot open and Adam stiffened, his heart pounding with fear as he watched the woman and guards approached. When Claire sat on the edge of the bed, Adam scooted away until he felt the wall against his back, his eyes darting suspiciously between his visitors.

"Good morning, Hon," the woman drawled, placing a tray of toast and juice beside the bed, "I brought you some breakfast."

He eyed the offering then shook his head and looked toward the window.

"You must be hungry," she said, pouring a glass of juice. "You haven't eaten a bite out of your last two meals."

"I'd rather starve than digest any more sedatives," he said tiredly.

"I know the drugs seem extreme, but they're necessary." She held out the glass and smiled. "Come on, at least drink the juice."

"I said no," he growled, facing her with a defiant glare.

Calmly shaking her head, Claire answered in an even, lecturing tone, "Hon, it's for your own good. If Lyle comes back and finds you haven't eaten, he's not going to be pleased with either one of us."

He stared at her for a long moment, considering her words, then took the juice. His hand shook slightly but, with no more than a quick glance in her direction, Adam brought the glass to his lips. Closing his eyes, he took two swallows of the drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and held the still half-full glass back to the woman.

"Happy?"

She frowned. "I'd be happier if you drank the whole thing."

"Then I guess you had better learn to live with disappointment."

Shaking her head, Claire placed the glass back on the tray and rose from the bed. "I'm going to leave the tray here. You're a smart young man; I'm betting you'll realize how important it is for you to do as you are told, before Lyle returns."

He stole another look at the tray, then at her as she moved toward the door.

"So, where is he?"

When the woman stopped only a few steps from the door, and faced him, he averted his eyes. "I'm just curious if he can survive out of his coffin in daylight."

Arching one eyebrow, Claire returned to the bed and lowered herself to the edge of the mattress.

"Lyle had something to do this morning. He should be here later this afternoon."

"Oh, joy," he muttered uneasily.

"I know you're upset about this whole situation," she said, sympathetically, "And after last night, I can't say I blame you."

As she spoke, Adam turned his eyes on the stream of sunlight that danced across the opposite wall. He leaned his head back against the pillow and, though she knew he heard every word she said, Claire wanted his attention on her. Reaching across his body, she stroked away the hair that fell across his forehead. When the boy flinched at the touch and shifted uneasily, she smiled and continued, "I promise, though, I won't let him get out of hand again. I won't . . . "

His gaze suddenly widened, becoming an incredulous stare as he defiantly pushed away her hand. "You're kidding, right? After everything that's happened, everything you've done, you expect me to trust you?"

"Everything I've done, I've done for a reason," she countered, "If Margaret had . . . "

"Leave my mother out of this. All she's ever tried to do was protect her family."

"And_ **you**_ are not a part of Margaret's family," the woman snapped. Softening her tone, she continued, "You are a child of the Centre and that makes you very special, more so than Jarod ever was. It took them almost a year, but Margaret and the Major now recognize that they can never offer you what you need."

"You're lying," he huffed, crossing his arms and effectively breaking physical contact with the woman. "They're my family."

"Whether you believe it, or not, it's true. How else would I have known you were at the concert, unless they told me?"

"No. They would never . . . "

"Those people have no idea how to deal with you, no clue as to whom you really are and no intention of trying to find out," she interrupted.

His eyes, dark and filled with rejection, narrowed as she spoke but Claire refused to give him the chance to refute her statements. Continuing at a powerful pace, she dared, "Think about the fights you've had with them in the last year. Think about the way they've tried to control you. You've argued about school, your friends, your clothes, your music . . . "

"Those kinds of arguments are common," he retorted, though his voice betrayed the fact that he was suddenly unsure. "They mean nothing. They're growing pains."

"Growing pains?" she repeated, disdainfully. "That sounds like something Emily would tell you."

He looked away and shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"It was Emily, wasn't it?" she asked, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "Hon, she's been lying to you, too."

"My sister has never lied to me."

"Emily is not your sister," she told him firmly, "Her brothers are dead."

The words had barely left her lips when Adam's hand tightened around a section of the blanket that still covered him. His body tensed and, though he remained silent, the glare Adam shot was filled with fury, contempt and loathing.

"I know you've grown attached to her. You obviously feel you know her better than I do so, maybe you're right," she conceded, unfazed by the threat in his eyes. "I suppose it is possible that lying to you was unintentional on her part. After all, Emily has never learned how to control her empathic abilities."

Easily adopting a tone that bordered on pity, Claire shook her head slightly and began softly stroking his arm. "She feels every emotion around her. Imagine how debilitating and confusing that must be, how desperate she must become to ease her own suffering. I mean, where could she go to escape the emotions of others? Where is Emily's refuge?"

With his eyes still trained on the woman, Adam pulled his hand away, but said nothing.

"She probably tells you the arguments are normal; that Margaret and the Major are adjusting to being together again, to losing Jarod and to suddenly having a teenager to raise."

Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, the young man released a shallow breath and turned his gaze on the open porthole.

"Meanwhile, she's telling them to be patient with you," Claire continued, keeping her voice soft and sympathetic. "After all, you're adjusting to life on the outside. Suddenly having freedom, and friends, can be overwhelming to someone who has spent their entire life in seclusion."

When he remained silent, Claire smiled knowingly and rose from the bed.

"I'll bet she's the one who got you permission to go to the concert wasn't she? She thought it would be good for you to get out, on your own, and for her parents to have time alone."

"It was my idea," he protested, weakly. Facing her again, he explained, "I asked her to talk to them, to . . . "

"It's time you faced the truth, Hon," she interrupted, "Emily was running interference, protecting herself from the tension and turmoil that comes when you and her parents argue. Her motives for involving herself with you are purely selfish."

"No," he said hesitantly, "You're wrong."

"Am I?" She stared down at him and her head cocked to the side. When he looked away, she smiled, slipped her hand under his chin and brought his eyes back to hers. When he tried to pull away, her expression melted into annoyance and Claire tightened her grip, allowing her fingernails to dig into his skin until he stopped struggling.

"You don't belong with those people any more than you belong with Lyle, Hon," she told him, "They don't understand you. They don't appreciate . . . "

"You don't know what you're talking about," he spat. Defiantly, he pushed away her hand and glared at her while his face darkened with each word he spoke, "_Those people_, as you refer to them, are my family. They love me. The Major and Margaret **_are_** my parents. Emily **_is_** my sister and Jarod . . ."

"Jarod is dead," she finished. Her voice was deep and held a cruel tone, but it was her hard gaze that made him shiver. "Jarod is dead and you're his replacement."

He stared at her for a long moment, his chest swelling with deep, uneven breaths as he swallowed the words he had almost spoken in frustration. It frightened him that he had come so close to betraying Jarod, something he swore he would never do again.

"The only reason the Major and Margaret have kept you around this long is that they were pretending, trying to convince themselves that **_you_** are the son they never got to raise."

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head and said softly, "You're wrong."

"Deny it all you want but, it won't change the fact that the people at the Centre know how special you are. I know how special you are." She paused, watching him pull his knees to his chest and bury his face in his hands before continuing, "The Centre is your real home and it's where you belong, Hon. The people there will give you the training you need, they will . . . "

"They will experiment on me, manipulate me and keep me locked away from everything that's real."

Claire sighed and shook her head. "Some day, you'll understand what I am doing for you. Some day, you'll thank me."

* * *

Though she had gone to bed less than three hours before, her energy level increased with each passing minute. Becoming more angry, frustrated and confused by Jarod's departure, Miss Parker finally showered, dressed and descended into the living room.

She found Emily at the dining table, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper spread out in front of her. To her right was a small plate littered with a paper napkin and sprinklings of bread crumbs. With a nod in the younger woman's direction Miss Parker disappeared into the kitchen, emptied the coffee pot into a large white mug emblazoned with a yellow smiley face and immediately took two long swallows.

She remembered the torment her twin caused Emily, the threats he had made against her and the sickening smile he wore whenever she was near. He had burdened the woman with a guilt that included responsibility for Jarod's physical and emotional injuries, as well as a deep fear that she might cause him pain in the future. By tapping into their need to protect each another, Lyle manipulated Jarod and Emily for weeks, leaving scars that Parker doubted would ever fully heal.

She watched the woman quietly sifting through the pages of newsprint and found herself cursing Jarod under her breath. By leaving, he had managed to heave the burden of explaining Lyle's whereabouts onto her shoulders and, just the thought, made Miss Parker's ulcer burn. Informing Jarod about Lyle had been difficult but, at least she had a history with him, she understood how he would react and prepared herself accordingly. Emily, on the other hand, was a wild card.

"Is there any coffee left?"

Deep in thought, Miss Parker was startled by the soft voice but quickly recovered and turned toward the coffee maker. "I'll make some more."

"Don't bother," Emily sighed, "I've probably had more than enough, anyway."

"Well, I haven't," she replied, mindlessly filling the carafe with water. "Thanks to your brother, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Did the two of you have another fight, after I went to bed?"

"I think last night falls into the 'intense discussion' category," she countered, glancing at the woman over her shoulder, "Have you heard from him?"

"No." Emily shrugged and rose from the table as she continued, "But, as you so politely pointed out yesterday, there are not much I can do but accept the fact he wants to be alone. Jarod is a grown man and fully capable of making his own decisions."

"Yeah, well, I'm beginning to think I may have overestimated him."

Keeping her eyes focused on her task, rather than glancing at Emily, Miss Parker filled the coffee maker, pressed the button to turn it on, and stepped away from the counter. She waited, silently sipping at her drink and openly staring at Emily while the younger woman crossed into the kitchen with her empty mug.

For Emily's sake, she could not wait until Jarod returned. Broots had been given instructions to explain the situation with Lyle to Jarod's parents as soon as possible. As soon as they heard the news and understood the implications, Margaret and Major Charles would try to reach their children.

"We need to talk, Emily," she said, softly, "and, I'm afraid you're not going to like the subject matter."

* * *

When she finally left for her run, Jarod admitted the two men into the house. His orders had been to watch the woman, not to make contact and, having completed the assignment, he looked expectantly at his handler. With a light pat on his shoulder, the man smiled and praised him for a job well done, then told Jarod to obey Mr. Lyle.

"I need something from you," Lyle said, "I want you to come with me and do exactly as I say."

Without question, Jarod followed Lyle to the bedroom at the back of the house. For almost forty minutes, he behaved exactly as he was told.

"Tell me you understand your orders."

"I understand," Jarod answered quietly, looking up at the man looming above him.

Lyle smiled at the response. Rising to his full height, he kept his captive in place by laying one hand flat on the man's abdomen while the other slid slowly from where it rested on Jarod's inner thigh. After telling the Pretender not to move, Lyle crossed to the bedroom door, absently taking in the family photos adorning the walls and dresser. The memorabilia did not interest him but the fact that Jarod was following him with his eyes, after dutifully submitting to his will, mattered a great deal.

He looked at the vial in his hand, grinned, and slipped it into his pocket, beside its mate before turning back to face Jarod. The dark eyes that greeted him were seemingly as unaware of what had just happened as they were of what was forthcoming and Lyle found himself slightly disappointed. With a snap, he removed the medical gloves from his hands, slipped them into his pocket and made a mental note to permit the Pretender to recall their activities, at a later time.

Without a word, Lyle opened the bedroom door and moved into the bathroom. He washed his hands and face, smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt, then brushed his hair before returning to where Jarod was waiting.

"Get up," he ordered, yanking his leather glove back into place.

Without question, Jarod pulled himself from the bed. His eyes never left Lyle as he waited, expectantly, for his next instruction.

After circling the man twice, for no other reason than it pleased him to be able to do so, Lyle pointed to the bathroom and commanded, "Quickly clean yourself but leave the door open."

Jarod nodded slightly and did as he was told. Lyle watched from the hall, absently massaging the vial in his pocket while scrutinizing every movement the Pretender made. He looked for anything that might show Jarod was making a fool of him, while telling himself that the Centre's greatest asset was under his complete control.

"The woman will be back soon," he said, when Jarod returned and stood in front of him. "Repeat everything I told you about her."

"Her name is Jillian," Jarod replied softly, "She is single, 31, and works nights as a telephone operator, so she can attend classes at the University during the day. Today, her classes begin at ten o'clock and end at three thirty. Her shift at the telephone company begins at five, so she begins the day with a run on the beach. Other mornings, her classes begin and end much earlier. On those days, she runs before she goes to work."

"Tell me what you will do when she arrives."

"I will surprise her and I will keep her quiet. I will do whatever is necessary to bring Jillian to this room and to you."

"You will obey any instruction I give you. If you disobey me," he warned, "you will be punished and someone in your family will suffer in her place. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle."

"Tell me you will obey my instructions without question."

"I will obey your instructions without question."

Lyle smiled at Jarod and nodded. "A good boy. Now, tell me who you are."

"I am your property," he answered, lowering his eyes and voice submissively as he recited the mantra, "yours to do with as you see fit."

"I am the one you will always, ultimately, obey," Lyle added, gripping the Pretender under the chin and forcing him to make eye contact, "Say it."

"You are the one I will always, ultimately obey, Mr. Lyle."

Lyle grinned and loosened his grip. His fingers danced around the small bruise that was emerging under Jarod's right eye, then slowly spread over his chin, cheeks and mouth. Before letting his hand drop, Lyle searched Jarod's face, taking in the chiseled features with an appreciative eye while his imagination fabricated elaborate ways to test the Pretender's obedience.

Calmly, he took a step back and cleared a path for the man.

"Go to the door and wait for the woman."

Jarod nodded and, when he turned away, Lyle's eyes were drawn to the handler. Standing at the edge of the hall, the man was staring at him, silently demanding an explanation. Unwilling to justify his orders or reveal his plan, the Chairman's son grinned and moved back into the bedroom.

"Threatening Jarod, or his family, will not guarantee his behavior. I told you he may not be able to carry out some jobs until he is conditioned to believe . . . "

Stretching out on the mattress, Lyle leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. His hand softly fingering the vial, he said, "I know Jarod much more intimately than you do, Doctor. I know exactly how he will react when the time comes for him to carry out my instructions."

* * *

"Do my parents know?"

Shifting slightly in her seat, Miss Parker took a deep breath and nodded. "Broots were supposed to tell them this morning."

As if on a cue, the telephone rang and, Emily grabbed for the handset. After a hesitant greeting, she closed her eyes and nodded.

"Mom, it's all right. Jarod and I . . . No, he's not here right now . . . He went for a bike ride . . . Yes, he knows about Lyle. Miss Parker told him last night," she said. Rising from her seat, Emily's voice cracked as she pleaded with her mother, "Mom, please, calm down. Jarod and I are fine."

Miss Parker stayed where she was, sipping more of her coffee as Emily moved away, choosing to continue the conversation with her mother on the deck. Despite the closed door, though, she could hear Emily trying to reassure her mother and, for the hundredth time since waking, Miss Parker silently cursed Jarod for leaving. If he could abandon his family, when they needed him so badly, it seemed her childhood friend had changed more in six months than she ever thought possible.

Rising from her seat, Miss Parker crossed the room. She didn't give a damn what his little bicycle excursions did for his body or his soul. Jarod belonged at the beach house and she would bring him back, kicking and screaming, if necessary.

"Where are you going?"

Turning as she reached the stairs, Miss Parker saw Emily place the phone in its base and answered, "First I'm going to change my clothes, then I'm going to find your brother. There's a spare bicycle in the garage . . . "

"You don't know where to look for him," Emily protested, "What if you pass him?"

"Jarod and I used to go biking on a regular basis; I know which trails he likes. All I have to do is check the parking lots for his SUV, "she answered, climbing the steps, "When I find it, I'll call you and then start out after him."

Emily glanced anxiously at her watch then replied, "I think we should wait. He could walk in any minute."

"Emily, it's after ten," Miss Parker pointed out, staring at her from the landing, "Jarod has been gone for over four hours already and he's not answering his cell phone."

"He'll be back. Yesterday, he was gone . . . "

"Yesterday, you nearly bit my head off when I stopped you from going after him; today, you're defending him," she interrupted angrily. Quickly descending back into the living room, she stopped in front of the younger woman and demanded, "What the hell is going on?"

"You were the one who told me to treat him like an adult."

"I meant you should treat him like an adult, when he's acting like one -- which he's not. Don't you think it's bad enough your mother has to worry about Adam? The last thing she needs is to worry about Jarod. Again."

"My mother is fine," she snapped, hugging the newspaper to her chest, "I explained to her that Jarod needed time alone and that I would have him call when he got home. She understands."

"After everything your family has been through, your mother shouldn't **_have_** to understand why Jarod wants to distance himself," she growled, grabbing the woman's arm as she turned away. Their eyes met and, after a slight hesitation, Miss Parker loosened her grip, adding, "And you shouldn't **_have_** to lie for him. Emily, if you know where Jarod is, or what he's doing, you need to tell me."

Freeing herself from the brunette's grasp, the younger woman threw the stack of newspapers onto the table. She went on to release a string of insults that included accusing Miss Parker of everything from being unable to let go of her previous role as Jarod's huntress, to calling the woman a coward for running out on him.

"Wherever Jarod is," she spat, as she headed down the hall, "and whatever he's doing is none of your concern. When, and if, he decides you should know, he'll tell you. In the meantime, you need to remember that you're only here to help us find Adam. Anything else is overstepping your bounds, Miss Parker."

Grabbing the set of car keys dangling from a hook by the garage door, Emily commandeered the vintage convertible that was Jarod's pride and joy, and headed for the highway. With tires squealing, she darted down the road, casting a quick glance in the rear view mirror as her insides twisted with remorse. By the time she brought the car to a stop, a mile and a half away, tears were silently running down her face.

* * *

Shortly after he was left alone, Adam drifted into another dreamless sleep. When he woke, he was thirsty and unbearably warm. The window was closed, once again trapping him in the dark, and the air around him was heavy and humid, making it difficult for his lungs to find a fresh breath. He was coated in sweat and the clothes he wore, though designed to hang loosely on the body, were hugging his body like a skin on a grape.

Wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, Adam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, they fell on the pitcher of orange juice Claire had left beside the bed. He licked his lips then turned away, reminding himself that the drink was tainted.

Eyeing the door on the other side of the room, he decided it was locked, but convinced himself it was worth testing. At the very least, it gave him something, other than his thirst, to concentrate on. His legs were weak, and the rocking of the boat kept him off balance when he tried to stand. Falling back to the mattress, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for another attempt, looking up only when the soft, mechanical whir of the camera caught his attention.

In the past year and a half, he had learned a lot about how the real world worked. It had been difficult at first, and there were still times he fell into the habits he'd been taught at the Centre, but his family helped him accept the idea that he was entitled to both freedom and privacy. He learned that being watched every minute of every day was not normal and that companionship was preferable to isolation. Most importantly, though, he learned that his feelings, his opinions and his thoughts not only mattered, they should be shared without fear of punishment or ridicule.

Seeing the red flashing light reminded him that Claire and Lyle were trying to strip him of the privileges he treasured. Not only had they taken him from the only people he cared about but, worse, they were trying to make him believe his family was responsible for the nightmare he was enduring.

Frustrated, Adam picked up the closest thing and flung it at the camera.

"My family did not do this to me!" he hissed as the pitcher shattered against the surveillance device. Then, to himself, he whispered, "They are looking for me."

Juice and shards of glass sprayed the bare floor. Knocked from its metal perch, the camera dangled two feet from the ground, spinning and bouncing on a cord that strained to hold its weight. The vandalism took more out of him than it should have, but despite his heavy breathing and increased heartbeat, for a short time, Adam stared at the damage and felt a sense of pride.

TBC  
Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	6. Chap 6

**Note: **I don't normally post individual thankyou's, unless I get a direct email, but I thought I should make an exception this time. I really appreciate all the feedback!

**Julie: **thank you for taking the time to review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

**Gemini-M:** I know you've posted reviews before - I'm very grateful for your comments. Thanks.

**Rem-cycle: **Yeah, I know my Lyle never seems to get his way, does he? Poor guy ;-) I'm glad you're enjoying the series. Thanks, so much, for the great review. As for my site - unfortunately I've gotten really lazy lately but a new chapter will be posted before the end of the month .. .I promise!

**LJP: **Thanks for the review - but I'm confused that you're confused. First, no one - other than J and MP - are'returning from the dead'and that was set up at the end of the first story "Survival". Second, it's already been established that Jarod is susceptible to hypnosis - Sydney hypnotized him in the series finale, when MP discovered that Jarod had met with Catherine, prior to Ethan's birth. As for Parker breaking Jarod of his connection to Lyle at the end of Survival - the answer is yes and no - she rescued him and destroyed the drug Lyle was using on him. However, the rest of the story was left open ended. This story, the sequel, is attempting to explain what happened afterward. If there was something, specific, that you feel I need to clarify - please let me know and I'll do my best to do so in the coming chapters.

**Leochick: **I know Survival isn't exactly short, is it? ;-) Thanks for taking the time to read through it all - and, I'm really glad you enjoyed it.

Thanks, again, everyone. Hope you keep reading ... ;-)

Survival II: Retribution  
by imagine

Part 6?

She contemplated following the Thunderbird in her own Porsche, but quickly decided it would do no good and returned to the house. With her thoughts racing between Jarod and his sister, Miss Parker paced the length of the living room until she was unable to cope with the silence, at which point she swiped everything from the table to the floor.

The sound of breaking glass made her insides clench and, curious, she moved to the edge of the table and looked down at the mess she had created. The mugs she and Emily had used were now nothing more than shards of ceramic scattered across the floor. With Emily's angry words still echoing in her head, Miss Parker responded to the scene with a soft obscenity, sunk to her knees and carefully fingered the cracked ceramic smiley face.

Considering her history with Jarod, at least from his family's point of view, she was not entitled to demand anything where the Pretender was concerned. As children, they had been friends and she betrayed him by becoming his huntress when they were adults. Then, after escaping Lyle's cabin, though they had managed to forge a camaraderie that no one else seemed to understand, she violated his trust by deserting him when he needed a friend and confidant.

"You're only here to help us find Adam," she told herself, sadly mimicking Emily's words. Picking at what was left of the Smiley Face mug, she heard her own dejected voice add, "Jarod is off limits."

* * *

The car rolled to a stop in front of the cabin and, as he cut the engine, Lyle turned in his seat and stared at the Pretender sitting quietly in the back. With his chin resting on his chest, and his eyes closed, Jarod appeared to be in a sound, peaceful sleep. Looks could be deceiving.

"He's much calmer than he was," he commented.

"Of course. He is following the orders I gave him."

"Are you sure the memories are in tact?"

"Positive."

Drawing his attention to the man beside him, Lyle raised an eyebrow and took on a less questioning tone. "And you can manipulate them?"

"The procedure will take about an hour. Would you like to stay and observe?"

Lyle glanced at his watch, then shook his head. "I have somewhere else to be; however, I want a full report and a recording of the session."

"You'll have it by one o'clock."

Nodding, Lyle watched the man exit the car and open the rear door. He listened to the commands that were given to the Pretender and smiled at the immediate response they elicited. When Jarod was standing compliantly beside his handler, at the porch steps, Lyle rolled down the window and called the doctor back.

"I need a complete work-up and more samples sent to the Atlanta facility," he said, when the man poked his head inside. "Make sure they're sent today."

"So soon? If I could wait a few more days . . . "

"You were told, when you started this project, Doctor, that, in addition to your psychiatric work with Jarod, you would be required to produce samples on a regular basis," Lyle growled, pushing open the door and exiting the car. "Are you telling me that the terms of your contract are.. _inconvenient_?"

"No," he sighed, stepping anxiously away from the vehicle, "of course not. It's just that, as you know, a full work-up takes time; it will delay my work with Jarod's memories."

"Then I suggest you get started. I want him back at the beach house before three o'clock."

"What happens at three o'clock?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," he replied, sliding back into the car. After connecting his seat belt and throwing the vehicle into gear, he looked at the other man and added, "At the moment."

* * *

Without warning, the door banged against the wall. Two men crashed into the room and pulled him from the bed. Startled by the attack, Adam offered little resistance when his hands were bound behind his back. The ropes were loose enough that they did not break the skin, but tight enough to remind him that he was not in charge.

After a moment, he tried to fight back and kicked one of his attackers in the groin. While the man screamed out in pain, Adam pulled away, stumbling frantically toward the door only to lose his balance after a few steps. He fell with a hard thud, landing on the shards of glass that littered the floor. Instead of crying out, the teen struggled against his attackers, trying desperately to ignore the glass that scratched, pricked and sliced its way into his back and arms. When the satin-lined hood was pulled over his head and a needle invaded his arm, however, he let out an angry cry of protest. Suddenly, he was terrified.

Panic pulsed through his body, refusing to allow him one logical thought but bombarded him with a thousand different fears as he was pulled to his feet and dragged through the door. A cool, salty breeze penetrated the heavy mask but, before the teen had a chance to fill his lungs, he was pushed forward. Expecting to feel the sudden force of his body hitting another solid mass - a railing, a wall, the floor, another body - Adam let out a breathless scream when the deck below his feet disappeared.

An instant later, he had a mouth full of salt water and was struggling against the undercurrent. Though he prided himself on being a strong swimmer, with his hands still bound behind his back and the mask still covering his face, Adam quickly became disoriented. He kicked desperately but, even as he did so, he had no idea if he was moving up, toward the water line, or propelling himself further into the depths of the ocean.

The water was cold and the salt irritated the open wounds on his back and arms. The light clothes he wore were suddenly heavy and cumbersome. But, worse of all, everything, except the panicked sounds that echoed in his throat, was quiet. Under any other circumstance, the silence would have been peaceful and comforting but, for Adam, it was terrifying.

He thought of his parents.

"_They were pretending, trying to convince themselves that **you** are the son they never got to raise."_

He thought of Emily.

"_Her motives for involving herself with you are purely selfish."_

He thought of Claire.

"_Some day, you'll understand what I am doing for you. Some day, you'll thank me."_

And, he thought of Lyle.

"_You belong to me now, Gemini. Don't ever forget it." _

He shook his head, frantic to free himself from the thoughts, as well as the loose-fitting hood. When it finally slipped from place, he found he was still enveloped in darkness. His chest was burning with pressure and his heart was pounding in his ears when he noticed the bubbles for the first time.

Bubbles float _up_, he told himself.

Immediately, Adam turned and began pumping his legs wildly, releasing just enough air to guide him to the surface. Though his movements seemed painfully slow, when the darkness began to recede and the temperature warmed, he kicked harder. By the time he finally broke through to fresh air, his chest felt as if it would explode. Gasping for air, he gagged on waves of salt water but the sun was shining on his face and, more importantly, he could breathe.

He managed to fill, and empty, his lungs less than half a dozen times before something wrapped around his legs and pulled him back into the darkness. An arm, adorned in black, curled around his waist while another hand pressed itself against his mouth and nose. In an attempt to free himself, the teen twisted and kicked in the water, but the ocean provided too much resistance and his assailant was too strong. Realizing he had no other options, Adam finally let his body go lax. Keeping his eyes closed, he concentrated on the chill that surrounded him rather than the burning sensation in his lungs.

When he regained consciousness, Adam found himself on the deck of the ship. His breaths were shallow and it felt as if each one was harder than the one before. Someone kicked at him and, ordered him to open his eyes. He obeyed slowly because the glare of the sun was so bright, and he'd been in darkness for so long, his eyes hurt too much. Finally, a shadow shielded his face and, when Adam looked up, he saw Claire looming over him.

"Why are you doing this?" he coughed, gasping for breath as he turned onto his side.

Crouching beside him, she ran a hand through his wet hair and frowned. "I know this is a difficult and confusing time for you, but you are expected to behave a certain way. Acting out, the way you did, is just not acceptable."

He turned his head and coughed violently into the deck of the boat. When the attack subsided, and he became aware that she was still stroking his hair, Adam rolled away from the woman and looked at her.

His face was slightly swollen, the puddle that formed beneath him was growing larger with each drop that fell from his body, and he was shivering slightly. Yet, his eyes held a defiant glimmer. Something akin to pride surged through her. She liked that he was a fighter, that he had a mind of his own and that he was determined to survive on his own terms. Unfortunately, those were the same traits that needed to be modified if he was to be of any use to her or the Triumvirate.

While she watched him try to pull himself into a sitting position, Claire shook her head in disappointment. "I was correcting a bad habit. I just want what is best for you."

"Then let me go home," he wheezed. Finding the effort to sit was too much for him, Adam let himself fall back to the deck. His eyes softened as he searched her face for some spark of emotion and, finding nothing, heard himself plead, "Please, I want to go back to my life."

"And you will, very soon," she promised.

He watched a thin smile spread across her face, knowing it was not the reaction he needed. Her eyes held a predatory sparkle and neither the grin nor her syrupy tone reflected anything but possessiveness.

"I want to go home," he repeated, using a deeper voice when he added, "to my family."

"I am your family now," she replied, once again stroking his hair. "And, soon, the Centre will be your home again."

"No."

"In the last year, you have lost some very important abilities, such as following orders and being respectful to your superiors," she continued harshly. "I am here to retrain you. Everything will be all right, as long as you do as you are told."

"I won't go back," he growled.

Her silent response consisted of setting her mouth in a thin, determined line and hardening her eyes. Pulling herself to her full height, she stared at him until he averted his gaze, then turned to one of the guards.

"Lyle will be arriving soon and he will not be happy if he sees the boy in this state. You can allow him to shower and change his clothes after he has cleaned up the mess he made."

"Yes, Ms. James."

"When he is clean and dry, offer him a meal. If he refuses, give him this," she said, holding out a syringe. When the guard nodded and took the needle from her, Claire continued her directions, though her eyes were now trained on Adam. "If he gives you any trouble, you have my permission to toss him back into the ocean as many times as necessary until he obeys your commands."

* * *

After sweeping up the shards of glass and depositing them in the kitchen garbage can, Miss Parker returned to the dining room. She sighed at the sight of the newspapers still scattered across the floor and, moving around the room, began to stack them in the crook of her arm. Her thoughts, however, were busy contemplating Emily's abrupt change in attitude regarding Jarod's disappearances.

It had never been any secret that Emily was over protective when it came to her brothers. Jarod was already a grown man when they met - set in his ways and accustomed to dealing with his own demons - so, even while he was Lyle's captive, there was little he would allow her to do for him.

Adam, on the other hand, was young. Having been taken from the Centre, the only life he ever knew, the boy was as unsure of himself as he was of those around him. When he felt his bond with the Major being threatened by Jarod, Adam resorted to desperate measures which were compounded by Emily's reaction to his existence.

A short time after meeting Adam, Emily overheard, and misunderstood, a discussion between the Major and the boy. Assuming that the teen had been sired by her father, during her parent's separation, she ignored the boy's presence and lashed out at her father. Without giving him a chance to explain, she accused the man of betraying her mother and their family.

When Adam interrupted, defending the Major by angrily, and shamefully blurting out his origins, Emily realized that she had, unintentionally, hurt the boy. The outburst and accusations she'd directed toward her father had not only enhanced the teen's confusion about his own identity, but added to his anxiety regarding his place in their family.

From that moment on, Emily took the role of being a big sister very seriously. She offered unconditional support and affection, which he accepted with open arms. She was the reason the boy chose a name and the reason he no longer viewed Jarod as a threat to his own freedom. He trusted her and, under her guidance, Adam was beginning to do two things the Centre had taught him were forbidden: he asked for help, when he needed it, and, when he made mistakes, he learned to forgive himself.

Despite their awkward introduction, the two had become extremely close in less than a year.

"And, suddenly, she is okay with the fact that Jarod disappears for eight to ten hours at a time when Adam is missing?" Miss Parker asked herself. Frustrated, she dropped the newspapers on the table and rubbed her forehead. "It doesn't make sense."

Her hand fell to the newspaper as she noticed the headline for the first time. The creases in her forehead became more defined as she searched through each of the papers, scanning the banners for publishing dates. Lowering herself to a nearby chair, she read article after article, doing her best to understand them the way Jarod would. An hour later, she found the common denominator.

Pulling her cell phone out of the pocket of her pants, she quickly dialed a familiar number. While she waited for the call to be answered, she scribbled three names on the back of an envelope she found in the desk drawer. She didn't know, exactly, what her discovery meant but, she was not about to let it slip away unnoticed.

"Broots, it's me," she said, into the phone. "I need you to do something for me."

"Um.. Miss .."

"Just shut up and listen. I want you to run the names Jennifer Forrest, Rose Barber and Susan Pearce through the Centre mainframe. I want to know if any of them have ever had anything to do with Jarod, or his family. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Call me on my cell phone the minute you know something," she ordered and, without warning, disconnected the call.

* * *

She spent the better part of her time away from the beach house, reliving the conversation she'd had with Jarod the night before. Though she understood his need to find the person responsible for the deaths of the women, and understood his need to prevent more attacks, she was finding it increasingly difficult to understand why those needs were more important than finding Adam.

"_I have to do this, Em, I can't explain why. Please, just trust me. Keep my secret."_

By the time Emily summoned the courage to return to the beach house, she was not surprised to find it empty. Although the words she said to the brunette, and the tone in which she'd said them, were designed to deter the woman from searching for Jarod, Emily had hoped Miss Parker would ignore her. It was after twelve and Jarod had been gone for more than six hours. Emily was worried.

After checking the voice mail, to ensure her parents had not called while the house was empty, Emily retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she stared blindly at the telephone on the opposite side of the room and took long swallows of the drink, while she forced herself to be honest with herself. Despite their intentions to the contrary, she and Jarod were strangers.

Having been forbidden from visiting him while he was recuperating, she only had her time with him at the cabin, and in the hospital, to use as a comparison to her brother's recent actions. She had no idea how his mind worked. She had no clue about what his life, both before and after his escape, was really like, or how he had managed to survive Lyle's abuse last year. If it weren't for Miss Parker's reaction to Jarod's disappearances, she might have, honestly, convinced herself that his behavior was normal.

By her estimation, there were only three people that knew enough about her brother to help him. The first was Sydney and, though she would have contacted him in an instant, she knew her brother was concerned about the psychiatrist's safety. Jarod was convinced that any contact might put the older man in danger and Emily was not yet desperate enough to test her brother's theory. If something went wrong and Sydney was hurt somehow because she asked him for help, Jarod would be devastated. She swore she would never hurt him again.

The second, and probably most qualified to help Jarod, was Miss Parker. Unfortunately, Emily was torn about sharing her brother's secrets with a woman he claimed he no longer wanted in his life. Even if turning to the brunette helped Jarod, in the long run, Emily was confident that it would cause a rift between her and her brother that she would, most likely, never be able to repair. At some point, she decided, she may have to take the risk of losing her brother in order to help him; but, right now, she needed another option.

Moving toward across the room, she slid open the drawer beneath the telephone and stared at Jarod's small, brown phone book. The third, and final, person Emily thought might help her was Philip Kelly. As Jarod's therapist, he knew things about the Pretender she would probably never know. If she shared her concerns with him, he might actually be in a position to either help Jarod, or ease her mind. The problem was that, though Jarod had never told her his reasons, he had all but told her that he had stopped his sessions with Dr. Kelly. As she lifted the book from its place, she wondered whether Jarod's decision was enough for her to not contact the doctor.

Finally, she put the water bottle on the counter and opened the book to the number she needed. Before she could change her mind, Emily lifted the handset and quickly dialed Dr. Kelly's office.

* * *

After removing the needle from the man's arm, he pulled at the tourniquet and looked down at Jarod. The dark eyes that looked back at him were not questioning, or accusatory; nor were they accepting or fearful. The Pretender's eyes held nothing except the reflection of the examination light.

"You have no idea what has happened to you, do you?" he asked, turning away. "Of course, considering the way you have been manipulated, in the last year, the fact that you're clueless is probably a good thing. Don't you agree?"

Sliding the sample into the cooler, next to the others, he shook his head at the silence. His question had not fallen on deaf ears, but the doctor knew Jarod would not respond. In his current state, the Pretender could not think for himself; he could only wait, patiently, to be told what to do.

"It is also unlikely that, if you were in your right mind, you would be so docile and cooperative," he sighed, facing his charge with a sad shake of his head. "Sit up and face me, Jarod."

Obediently, the man did as he was told.

"It's time we get to work, Jarod. I want you to tell me everything that happened to you today. Begin with the moment you left your beach house and continue until I tell you to stop. When I ask you a question, I want you to answer it without hesitation. When I tell you to do something, you will obey immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's begin."

Slowly, the dark man spoke about the drive along the coast highway and the bike ride that brought him to the cabin. His tone was soft and, though his eyes were cast downward, Jarod kept a peripheral watch on his handler. Instinctively, the Pretender gauged the pace and choice of his words on the other man's body language.

"Tell me what you saw and what happened when you arrived."

"I saw you standing on the porch. You invited me inside. When I refused, you told me that a stolen child has no control," he answered. His words were hesitant but, before his handler could question him, Jarod continued, "I said I was a stolen child."

He saw the confusion begin to surface on Jarod's face and nodded, knowing the reaction was normal. Though he accepted the memories, there was still a part of the Pretender that was struggling to make sense of them. Glancing at his watch, he sighed and shook his head. Lyle's orders had been explicit and, unfortunately, did not allow him any additional time with his subject today. Frowning, the doctor scribbled a quick note, reminding himself to squelch Jarod's budding curiosity at their next session.

"Continue, Jarod. I want you to tell me what happened next," he urged, using a firm tone.

"You told me to surrender to your will and, again, told me to come into the cabin," the Pretender quickly replied. "When we were inside, you told me to wash my face, shave, and comb my hair. When I was done, I was told to sit on the sofa and wait for my next instruction."

"And, how long did you have to wait before that instruction came?"

"Seventeen and a half minutes. You told me to identify our visitor and tell you where I had last seen him."

"Very good. Now, tell me what happened next."

In a dull voice, the Pretender continued a minute by minute recitation of his time in the cabin. Though the muscles in Jarod's jaw and arms tighten when he discussed Mr. Lyle, the doctor waited until the man calmly described Lyle's test - his attempted suffocation of the Pretender - before laying a hand on his charge's arm.

"You can stop now, Jarod," the doctor said gently, "Before you continue, I want you to do something for me."

The Pretender met his handler's eyes, took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

"I want you to go back in your memories, to the moment you arrived at the cabin. Tell me when you're there."

Jarod nodded. "I am there."

"I want you to lift out all the memories you've described after that moment and store them, with the others, in your secret place. Put them away and promise never to visit them again."

"I have put them with the others," Jarod replied, after a moment of silence, "I promise to never visit them again."

"Tell me what will happen if you break your promise."

Taking a deep breath, the Pretender answered softly, "If I visit those memories, or repeat them to anyone without permission, I will lose my family."

"Do you want to lose your family?"

Jarod shook his head. "No."

"Tell me you will keep your promise."

"I will keep my promise."

"Wonderful. You have pleased me, Jarod." He smiled at the slow, shy grin the Pretender offered and then said, "Now, continue with your story. In addition to riding on the trail this morning, what else did you do?"

"I accompanied you and Lyle to a small house set a few blocks from the beach. I was told to quietly break into the house and . . . "

The doctor listened while Jarod coldly recited the events that took place inside the house. He took careful notes. He marked the ones that would be deleted, the ones that Jarod would remember in his dreams and the ones that would be recalled only when triggered by items or events that he and Lyle had already predetermined.

Looking up at the Pretender, as he continued his monologue, the doctor smiled. His project had every indication of being successful.

* * *

With the drug running through his system, it took him longer than it should have to clean the juice and glass. The guards were impatient, repeatedly threatening him to hurry up, and, when Adam was unable to quicken his pace, the two men restrained his hands, blindfolded him and dragged him back on to the deck. Though he refused to beg for mercy, his body was trembling so badly that, before more than a minute had passed, the guards rethought their threat and returned him to his room.

Adam murmured a soft, "Thank you."

"Don't thank us, yet," the larger guard gruffly warned. "This is to be cleaned up in exactly twenty minutes, or else. Do you understand?"

Meekly, Adam nodded. When he was finally finished, he was sure more time had passed than he had been allotted but, if they noticed, the guards did not threaten him. He was allowed to shower and change into dry clothes. The fact that they refused to let the bathroom door close bothered him, but Adam knew better than to comment.

They escorted him back to the bed and, though he wanted nothing more than to sleep, they handed him a tray of fresh food. He stared at the still warm meal, then looked up at the guards. Reluctantly, he forced down two bites of the eggs and a short sip of the milk, but could not manage any more.

"Please," he whispered, his gaze darting from one man to the other, "I'll eat later. I promise. I just want to sleep."

The silence that filled the room, as he hopefully waited for them to allow his request, lasted only a few seconds. Responding to the crackle of the walkie talkie clipped to his belt, the larger of the guards moved away. A moment later, his partner followed him to the edge of the room.

The knot in Adam's stomach tightened as he watched the two men confer. Anxiously, he dropped his eyes to the tray of food and picked at the meal, trying to convince himself that another bite would not harm him while praying the morsels he'd already swallowed would not reappear. He didn't want to think about what might happen if he was unable to digest the food he was given.

The fork was half way to his lips when the guards returned to the bed and, without a word, yanked the tray away from him. While one held him tightly, pinning his arms to side, the other produced the syringe.

Adam's eyes widened and every muscle in his body tensed as the needle invaded his arm, but he did not have the strength to struggle. All he could manage was a weak protest. "No. I did what I was told."

When the syringe was empty, they released him, then quickly dropped a dark mask over his face. Though he did not have the strength or the will to fight, they bound his wrists behind his back and pulled him to his feet. When he tried to ask where they were taking him, his words slurred and they told him he would find out soon enough. When he tried to resist, becoming dead weight in their arms, they gripped him tighter and kept him on his feet.

Through the darkness and above the sounds of his own panic, he felt a breeze caress his body and the warmth of the sun on his arms. But, instead of being comforted, Adam's fear increased until he realized he was no longer outside. There was a cool, dampness to the air and a musty stench that reminded him of his sub level room at Donoterase. The recollection was not comforting.

They dragged him down a flight of stairs where a familiar voice was yelling one word over and over. Adam felt his insides twist with a new fear. The tone of the one word protest revealed fear, confusion and frustration each time it was uttered until, finally, it was filled with pain and terror.

Lyle's words, from the night before, came back to him as they dropped him onto the cold floor.

"_You wanted Jarod's life, well, now you've got it. With me."_

Unsure, he stayed where he fell, letting the ocean rock him awkwardly while he listened to his brother's terrified voice. Only barely realizing he was doing it, Adam pulled his knees to his chest and softly began echoing the word Jarod repeated.

"No."

* * *

A recorded announcement told her that Dr. Kelly would not be in the office until the next day and she should leave a message. Emily recited her name and number then searched Jarod's papers for a private number, a pager, or a cell phone that could be used to contact the doctor, in case of an emergency. When she came up empty, she searched the book published by the local telephone company. Still finding nothing, she threw both books back in the drawer and began anxiously pacing while periodically glancing at Jarod's room.

She considered her options carefully, before making her decision and grabbing the stack of newspapers piled on the table. Hugging them to her chest, Emily stepped inside the empty room, telling herself that she was putting the papers somewhere her brother could find them. She was trying to make things convenient for him. She was straightening up the house. She was not invading his privacy.

Placing the newspapers on the corner of the desk, she quickly, but gently, went through the documents in each of the drawers. She found bills, cards from various members of the family and a myriad of financial papers she had no interest in making sense of; but, nothing that shed any light on Jarod's activities or thoughts.

In an old footlocker at the end of Jarod's bed, she found a blue notebook buried beneath an assortment of sweatshirts and running gear. Though the first page was blank, pencil sketches covered the next dozen sheets. Between each sketch was a blank page; however, due to the pressure that had been applied to the pencil, the empty sheets were bruised with indentations.

Slowly, she flipped through the drawings, studying each for as long as she could manage before moving onto the next. Three women, their faces frozen in fear, or pain, were depicted on each page. In some cases, their mouths were open, as if they were begging for help, in others it was closed as if they were biting back a cry; but, in every sketch, their eyes were wide with fear.

Along the edge of each sheet, the same two lines were neatly printed: _A stolen child has no control, no power o'er his plight._

* * *

It was almost one thirty and, in the past hour and a half, Miss Parker had cruised the parking lots of half a dozen trails, scanned the roadside parking of another three and, still, there was no sign of Jarod. She was running out of options.

With a heavy sigh, she thought about the last trail on her list. She and Jarod had ridden the trail only once and, as she leaned against her Porsche staring at the scenic view, her thoughts drifted back to that beautiful Spring day. They'd started the excursion early, arriving at the trail just after sunrise. For almost ten miles, they rode at a leisurely pace, alternating between riding side by side and taking turns leading the other through the wooded preserve. Occasionally, they stopped, standing together in comfortable silence while they watched deer and other forest animals forage for breakfast. Their conversations were easy and, in addition to seeing flashes of Jarod's smiling face, she remembered laughing a lot that day.

They were enjoying the ride, and each other's company, so much that when they stumbled upon the cabin, Miss Parker did not realize the significance. It was Jarod's release of a low, guttural cry that made her stop her bike and turn to face him.

The sound, and the sight of him dropping his bicycle and stumbling away had terrified her to such an extent that her memory of what happened next was a blur. All she could remember was the panic in his dark eyes. The bright, boyish smile that had lit up his face was gone; in its place was desperation as he tried to catch his breath and battle the convulsive tremors that overtook his normally steady gait. She heard the hoarseness of his voice as he pleaded for relief, and recalled the heavy vibrations of his body trembling in her arms; but, she had no memory of what had finally calmed him down.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she pushed back the images and shook her head. Never, in all the years she had known Jarod, had she seen him so defenseless against his own demons. It was not something she wanted to relive and, though she doubted he would willingly put himself through that kind of anguish again, she reminded herself that Jarod had seemed to change a lot in the last six months. Was it possible that Jarod had gone to the one trail that had assaulted him with memories that left him emotionally drained?

Wiping her eyes, she reached for her cell phone and dialed the number at the beach house.

"Emily, it's me," she said, when the woman answered, "Has Jarod turned up yet?"

"No."

Disappointed, Miss Parker sighed. "I have one more place to look. I will call you if I find him."

Not allowing Emily the time to chastise her, again, for searching for Jarod, Miss Parker immediately disconnected the call.

* * *

Hanging up the phone, Emily looked back at the notebook and frowned. As disturbing as her find was, she refused to believe it meant anything significant and carefully slid it back into the footlocker. The sketches supported Jarod's claim that he was trying to solve the murders of the three local women, she told herself. However, even as the thought crossed her mind, her gut twisted in dispute.

She continued her search, methodically moving around the room and inspecting the bureau and closet. Her shaking hands sifted through clothes, books and music CD's, while she told herself repeatedly that she was doing what was right. By the time she entered the bathroom, Emily felt so guilty about invading her brother's privacy, paranoia had set in. Twice, she walked back to the living room, positive she had heard Jarod return and twice, she found the house empty.

She was going through the small drawer in the bathroom when she stumbled upon the straight razor. Turning it over in her hand, she numbly lowered herself to the edge of the bathtub and stared at the item.

Though Jarod had refused to discuss the things Lyle did to him, Emily knew enough of her brother's ordeal for her imagination run amok with vivid nightmares. She knew about Lyle's efforts to transform Jarod into his personal assassin. She knew about the letter 'L' that had been carved into his shoulder, about the drugs that had been forced upon him and about the physical and emotional abuse her brother had endured. She also knew the significance of the razor.

Because of the memories the simple act of shaving unleashed, Jarod had worn a beard for several months after his release from the hospital. It was bad enough that using scissors to trim the hair on his face caused noticeable tremors, but the mere sight of a straight razor sent Jarod into violent convulsions. After weeks of sessions with Sydney, and a treatment that included mild sedatives, Jarod finally allowed an electric razor to touch his skin but, even then, it took almost two full days before he was finally clean shaven.

As she stood in Jarod's bathroom, fingering the blade, Emily recalled finding one like it in Lyle's cabin. Thinking an injured guard dog was in the next room, she'd taken it to use as a weapon. When she discovered Jarod, semiconscious and chained to the bed, she'd slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans and concentrated on helping him escape. Now, as she searched her memory, Emily discovered she had no idea what happened to the razor after that night.

Suddenly, Emily was very frightened.

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" she asked, her eyes glued to the monitor.

"You want those disks, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but I told you that I didn't want the boy hurt."

Lyle cocked his head to one side and offered her a dark grin. "Yet you tossed him into the ocean."

"I was training him, reminding him that there are consequences for his actions," she insisted defensively. "There were divers nearby. He was never in any danger."

"Don't get me wrong, I liked the impromptu swimming lesson. In fact, I may use it on him myself, at some point. But, the fact remains that he didn't know he was never in danger, did he? Face it, you traumatized him in pure Centre fashion. You have probably done more damage to the boy than I have. Raines would be proud."

"Somehow, I think ambushing him in his sleep and then slicing into him with a Swiss Army knife trumps anything I might have done. Or have you forgotten about your little late-night visit already?"

"I have not forgotten anything."

"Then, explain to me why you have to do this to him, too," she demanded, motioning toward the monitor. "He doesn't deserve . . . "

"The boy is Jarod's clone and he was raised by Raines," he hissed. Lyle's blue eyes were hard and narrow, his voice was rough and, despite the fact he was on the other side of the room, Claire took a step back. "Take it from me, Dr. Billy is much more adept at destroying lives then I will ever be and Gemini survived him for almost fourteen years. Like Jarod, he has an uncanny ability to endure things you could never imagine."

She looked back at the monitor and shook her head. Surrounded by DSA players, and speakers that increased the volume of recordings Lyle had hand picked, the boy had pulled himself into a fetal position. Even though his hands were still bound behind his back and the mask was still in place, he managed to scoot himself into a corner of the room, wedging his back against the wall. She could see his shoulders shake and his head rock slightly from side to side. Curious, she reached for the knob to amplify the sounds in the room.

Above the cacophony of Jarod's voice, screaming in pain, fighting his abusers and gasping for breaths, she could hear the boy's small voice. She could not make out the words but, the more she watched him suffer, the more protective she felt toward him.

"Raines' forte was physical and mental torture," she spat, turning on Lyle with renewed venom, "He ran arduous and agonizing simulations, he forced his charges into submission with threats and painful experiments. What you're doing to the boy is emotional. Look at him! He is not equipped to . . . "

"Of course it's necessary. It's necessary because you did not follow the instructions I gave you," he countered, pacing the length of the room with his arms folded across his chest. "You were told to keep him drugged and confused, you were told not to let him sleep, you were told to convince him his family no longer wanted him. If you had managed to accomplish any of those tasks, I would not have had to resort to such drastic measures."

"So, this is my fault?"

"Yes."

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

"We can stop all of this now, if that's what you want, Claire," he threatened, "If you don't want the disks any more, if you're willing to let Margaret hold damning evidence over your head forever, tell me. Tell me and I'll take the boy and be on my way."

Turning back to the monitor, the woman watched the boy as she considered Lyle's words. She needed the evidence that connected her to Damon and, though the boy's suffering broke her heart, she had to think of herself and the bigger picture. Once she had the disks and, once she made sure Lyle was appropriately punished for his actions, she would make it up to the boy. When the Triumvirate appointed her as his caretaker, no one would dare hurt him again.

"The bottom line is, do you want those disks, or not?"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

"Good. Now, that we have that settled, where is his cell phone?"

Looking away from the monitor, she cocked her head to one side and faced the man. "His cell phone?"

"Is there an echo in here? I want the boy's cell phone," he demanded. "You didn't send it back to his family, with his personal items, did you?"

"No, of course not." Shaking her head, she crossed to the desk on the other side of the room. "It's right here."

Taking the device from her, he flipped it open and activated the device. Pleased with the battery level and signal strength, Lyle smiled to himself and turned back to the woman. After meeting his gaze for a few seconds, she dropped her eyes and moved past him, returning to the monitor.

He frowned at her avoidance and stepped behind her, wrapping his fingers in her hair. "Tell me you haven't allowed the boy to call home. Tell me that you managed to obey, at least, one of my directives."

"The boy has not called home," she hissed, pulling away from him. "Now, let go of me."

Releasing his grip, he stared at her for almost a full minute before glancing at his watch.

"You're hiding something but I don't have time to find out what it is," he muttered, turning away. "Right now, it's time to have a chat with the boy and his guards."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	7. Chap 7

Disclaimer in part 1

Surivival II- Retribution  
Part 7

"Pull him away from the wall."

He was suddenly aware that the tortured sounds of Jarod's shredded voice had stopped, replaced with the noises of visitors he had not heard approach. Adam did not resist when he was roughly lifted and dragged to the center of the room, nor did he voice any questions or comments that came to his mind. Mr. Raines had taught him, at an early age, that silence was golden and, despite his family's influence, he knew many of the Centre's lessons could benefit ones survival.

They dropped him onto a hard, metal chair and, before Adam could catch his breath, they pulled him into a straight position. With his face still hidden by the hood, Adam bit down his lip to prevent crying out when his wrists, still bound behind him, were wedged between his body and the steel back of the chair.

"Are you aware that you destroyed the camera in your room, Gemini?"

Adam stiffened when he heard the question but it was hold the man had on his shoulders, from behind, that made the boy respond in a soft voice, "Yes."

"I suppose that's exactly what you were trying to accomplish, wasn't it?"

As soon as the question was voiced, Lyle's hand slid beneath the hood. It wrapped itself around the locks that were rooted at his crown and tugged angrily. The Chairman's son pulled his charge's head over the edge of the chair, leaned over and whispered harshly, "I do not like it when my property is vandalized."

Adam's wrists were pressed harder against the metal spine of the chair and a fresh rope burn tortured an already tender area of his hand. He bit harder on the inside of his lip and the distinct taste of blood trickled down his throat. Then, violently, Adam was released and pushed forward. Unprepared for the angry shove, he tensed long enough to cause his body to sway to the left, hitting his head on the edge of the chair's arm.

"I'm in a generous mood today," Lyle told him, his voice suddenly taking on a patronizing tone. "However, I will not react as kindly the next time you act out. Do I make myself clear?"

Doubled over, with his forehead resting on his knees, and unable to find his voice, Adam nodded.

"Good."

The sharp word of approval was followed by a stillness that was far from comforting. Lyle had not moved from his spot behind the chair, nor did any of the other occupants so much as cough. With each passing moment, Adam became increasingly anxious. The longer the silence stretched on, the more he felt like he was being taunted into going against every instinct that was screaming for him to keep quiet.

"Has the boy cleaned the mess he made?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle."

Adam swallowed hard. He recognized the voice of the larger guard and pulled himself straighter in the chair, wondering the reason for question. If Lyle knew the surveillance camera had been destroyed, then he knew the room had been cleaned.

"What is your name?"

"Ian Porter, Sir."

"Then, tell me, Ian, were you with the boy when he washed the floors?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And he did the job to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, Sir."

Adam struggled to keep his breaths steady as he listened to the clicks of Lyle's heels, slowly circling him.

"The surveillance camera on deck shows that the two of you brought Gemini out of his cell, bound and blindfolded," Lyle replied, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Adam. "It appeared as if you were about to punish him, to throw him back into the ocean."

There was no question but, after a brief hesitation, the guard breathed, "Yes, Sir."

When his captor, once again, started a slow trek around the chair, Adam held his breath and squeezed his eyes even tighter. He understood what Lyle was planning and he knew that he had no chance of escape.

"Yet, you didn't follow through."

"The boy was shivering uncontrollably. I was afraid that he had developed a fever and that another dunking might make him seriously ill."

"I see. Have you ever been told to be concerned about the boy's health?"

"No, Sir," he admitted, hesitantly.

"Then, so there is no misunderstanding in the future, you are not worry yourself with things outside your responsibility. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Ian sighed.

"Now, take him on deck. I want you to follow through on the punishment."

Adam's insides clenched in fear. The little moisture he'd had in his throat was gone and the pounding of his heart vibrated in his ears.

"Lyle, is that really necessary?" Claire asked. "The room is clean, he did as he was told. What possible advantage could there be to punishing him now?"

"He needs to learn that he will not receive special treatment," Lyle spat, pulling the bound boy from the chair. "If he is told to do something, he is expected to do it _immediately_."

Adam stumbled as he was pushed forward, and fell into the arms of the guards. The two men hesitated only a moment before tightening their grip and dragging him toward the door. He felt the heat of the sun and, though he refused to struggle, Adam held his breath, in preparation for what was to come.

"Wait a minute," Lyle called.

The fear of being thrown into the ocean suddenly ebbed and, instead, Adam found himself almost disappointed about the delay. He had no idea whether his sudden serenity was caused by the drugs in his system or the beginning stages of depression, but he didn't care. All he knew was that his will to survive seemed to be weakening and, at the moment, he was frighteningly calm.

"I want him to see what's happening, this time," Lyle announced, ripping the mask from the boy's face. The glare of the sun made Adam squint and drop his head but Lyle quickly grabbed him by the hair and demanded that he open his eyes. Though his eyes filled with tears, in deference to the sudden sharp light, Adam did as he was told. "I want him to remember what the ocean looks like as he is falling toward it, as much as I want him to remember how it feels and tastes when he is struggling to stay afloat."

Adam heard Claire yell, a split second before he hit the water. The undertow pulled at him, sucking him further into the cold abyss.

It would be so easy, he thought, it would be so easy to just stop fighting.

* * *

Carefully, she opened the razor and ran a tentative finger along its sharp edge. When she reached the tip, she shook herself from her memories and pulled herself to her feet. Emily closed the blade and slid it back into its hiding place but, as she began to close the drawer her eye caught something wedged against the side. Crouching for a closer look, she used her finger nail to retrieve the folded business card and opened it carefully.

_Creations by Jenny  
__Los Angeles San Diego  
__Jennifer Forrest, Proprietor_

Her breath caught in her throat and, clenching the business card, Emily stood and slid the drawer closed, ignoring the slight shake of her own hand. With a sense of urgency, she returned to Jarod's bedroom and the newspapers she had deposited on the desk.

By the time she found the article announcing the first murder, Emily was beginning to panic. Her heart was racing, and it seemed her brain refused to send the signal for her lungs to inflate but she managed to lower herself to the edge of the chair before her legs gave out.

"Jennifer Forrest, 35, a local artist, was found in her studio in San Diego early Sunday morning. A spokesman for the Police Department stated that preliminary reports suggest the woman died of suffocation but would not give any other details, pending an investigation."

* * *

From the deck of the ship, Lyle and Claire watched Adam battle both the ocean and consciousness. When he found the surface, and then lost it to a large wave, Claire yelled for her guards to go in after him. A few moments later, Adam poked through the waterline, a second time, gasping and struggling to keep afloat. Another force of water lifted the boy, slammed his body against the hull of the ship, and Lyle stepped away from the railing as Claire shouted another order for the guards to get into the water.

"I want him brought to my cabin," he ordered as the men moved to the edge of the ship, "and I want the hood on him."

Sealing the watertight masks over their faces, Ian and his partner glanced at each other, nodded at Lyle, then rolled themselves into the ocean.

"I can't believe I allowed you to do that to him. Do you have any idea how weak he is? Or the damage this little stunt of yours could have caused?" Claire shrieked, following Lyle to the opposite side of the ship.

"He'll be fine."

"By whose standards?" she dared.

Coming to an abrupt stop, and blocking her entrance to his suite, Lyle pivoted and glared at the woman. "Mine."

* * *

"_Dr. Kelly, my name is Emily. I'm Jarod's sister and I need to talk to you as soon as possible. I don't want my brother to know I've contacted you so please call me on my cell phone, area code 773 . . ."_

Stopping the message, he stared at the phone and leaned back in his chair. Since accessing his voice mail system, he had played the message three times, each time becoming less curious, and more concerned, about the call.

At Lyle's request, he had used some of his sessions with Jarod to gather detailed information about the Pretender's family. Now, as he played the message again, the information Jarod had unwittingly shared came back to him.

Emily was an empath - a person with the ability to feel and absorb the emotions of those around her. After finding Jarod at Lyle's cabin, she had done what she could, to keep him safe, including using her gift to alleviate his pain. As a result, the Pretender had been left with a sense of guilt that the bond his sister and he shared had caused her harm.

"_I can't let her see me again," he lamented, "until I am able to control my fears and emotions. I do not want my sister feeling that kind of pain again, because of me."_

Now, as he considered Jarod's concerns, Dr. Kelly realized that Emily could be a threat to the project. Until he had a lengthy session with the Pretender, and erased the doubts and confusion that were beginning to surface, there was a distinct possibility that Emily could pick up on them. Frowning, he picked up the receiver and quickly punched out a telephone number he had memorized months before.

"Lyle."

"Jarod's sister wants to meet with me. It sounds as if his behavior may be causing suspicion."

Lyle released a disgusted sigh and moved further into the suite. "So, what's the problem? You **are** a doctor, aren't you? Find out what is swimming around in that head of hers, and then tell her you are bound by patient confidentiality."

His anxiousness suddenly intensified. Standing, he pressed the phone closer to his ear and crossed to the window. "Have you forgotten about her abilities? How do you expect me to lie to her, when she asks about her brother's behavior?"

"She's an empath, not a psychic," Lyle snarled.

"I realize that, however the two gifts share some traits. If she . . . "

"Assuming you did not lie on your resume, Doctor, you hold multiple advanced degrees in the field of psychology and medicine. Are you telling me you are incapable of holding a conversation with the sister of one of your patients?"

"Of course not, but Jarod is hardly your average patient and he is showing signs of resistance to the program. If Emily has picked up on . . . "

"Emily doesn't know anything," he interrupted, using an irritated tone. "I expect you to answer them without telling her anything and I expect you to get Jarod's psyche under control."

Gritting his teeth, he growled, "In order to do that, I am going to need some extended time with him, very soon."

"How much time?"

Pushing away from the window, he moved to the file cabinet.

"At the very least, forty-eight to seven-two hours," he answered, reaching into the top drawer. "It would have to be a very intense session but, I think . . . "

"Fine. In a few days, you can take him and do whatever you want to him for as long as you need. His disappearance might even help our cause. Right now, however, he needs to stay put."

The doctor nodded absently, silently reviewing the notes in Jarod's file. He did not like that he would have to wait a few more days before he could have full, uninterrupted access to his charge. At this stage of the game, however, he understood why he needed to be patient.

"You are awfully quiet, Doctor," he hissed. "Did something go wrong with Jarod? You have not lost control over him, have you?"

"Jarod is still under my control," the doctor replied, defensively. "He left about half an hour ago with instructions to be back at the beach house by three o'clock, as you requested. I will release him as soon as we finish our conversation."

"What about the samples?" Lyle asked. "Were they sent to Atlanta?"

"The courier picked them up twenty minutes ago."

"And, you sent me a tape of the session?"

"Yes," he sighed, closing the file. "I downloaded it a few minutes ago."

"Good," Lyle nodded. Moving to the small window of the suite, he watched the guards tow Adam onto the deck. "I want you to download one more tape. I want a copy of the session you had with Jarod the day after his brother arrived for his visit."

Suddenly confused, the doctor raised his head and stared at a blank spot on the wall, his brows furrowed. "You mean the day Jarod had the attack at the fair? That was over two months ago. What could you possibly want with that tape?"

"Never mind what my reasons are for wanting it and download it immediately."

* * *

Folding her arms across her chest, she stood at the back of his SUV and watched his approach. Despite the distance, and the fact his eyes were lowered, concentrating on the ground moving beneath his bike, she knew Jarod's form when she saw it and moved closer to the path entrance. When he looked up, she shifted from one foot to the other and took on a more defiant stance but, rather than acknowledge her presence, Jarod suddenly pulled to the side of the trail.

Curious, she watched as he brought his cell phone to his ear, nodded then slipped it back in its case. The entire conversation took no more than fifteen seconds. With a heavy sigh, Jarod then slid back onto the bicycle and pushed himself away from the tree he was leaning against.

She stiffened when their eyes met a second time and, this time, Jarod's hardened.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, riding past her toward the car.

"Looking for you, Genius. Who was on the phone?"

Startled by the question, Jarod glared at her and, in a deep voice, replied, "None of your business."

"Emily and I have been trying to reach you all morning," she snapped, moving beside him, "and you haven't answered. You want to explain why?"

He shrugged and hoisted the bicycle onto its rack. "I had it turned off, until a little while ago."

"Your brother is missing and you turn off your phone?"

"I didn't realize it was off until a few minutes ago," he shot back. Glaring at her over his shoulder, he added, "It was an accident. Now, why are you here?"

"You've been gone almost eight hours."

Stepping back from the vehicle, he glanced at his watch then looked at her and shook his head.

"That can't be."

"Well, it is," she answered, softening her tone. When he looked up, she saw the surprise on his face and realized that he had not intended for her to hear his remark. "Jarod, you left the beach house at six this morning. It is now after two. Your sister covered for you when your parents called and . . ."

"My parents called? When? Why? Did something happen to Adam?" He asked the questions in rapid succession, his eyes widening as he spoke. "Did Claire call again? Answer me, Parker."

"Calm down. Your parents found out about Lyle and were worried about you. Emily told them you were fine and that you would call when you got home," she replied. Waiting until he released the breath he was holding, she added, "That was more than four hours ago."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned away from her and stared at the mouth of the trail. Though she only saw his profile, she saw the confusion on his face and the tension in his shoulders. Without thinking, Miss Parker slid her hand onto his arm and waited for Jarod to look back at her.

"Maybe it's time we had a talk . . ."

"If you're looking for an apology, you've got it, okay? I didn't realize I was gone so long," he interrupted. Without looking at her, he moved to the driver's side of the vehicle and added, "Other than that, I doubt there is anything for us to talk about, Parker."

"Actually," she whispered, when he slipped inside the SUV and slammed the door, "there is quite a bit we need to discuss."

* * *

Every muscle in his body, including his lungs and heart, seemed to ache. His head felt like it had been split open, his legs throbbed with exertion and his wrists, still bound behind his back, burned from the salt water infected wounds.

One of the guards knelt beside him and checked the rhythm of his pulse and heart. Apparently pleased that both were still beating, the man then tried to check his eyes but Adam pulled away from the touch. He brought his knees to his chest and curled his shoulders forward, making his body as small as possible while he watched the man's reflection in the polished steel of the ship's railing. When the distorted figure rose and disappeared, Adam's muscles tensed with fear but he fought the desperate urge to turn and look for the man. Instead, he opted to succumb to his exhaustion.

Moments later, when a large wave splashed beads of salt water on his face, Adam's eyes snapped open. The vessel bobbed unexpectedly and another wave crested over the edge of the deck. His breath caught in his throat and, as he tried to back away from the rim of the ship, Adam rolled his head to where the guards had been. Despite his growing fear and hatred toward his captors, when he saw them approaching with a wheelchair, he felt a modicum of relief and closed his eyes.

"C'mon, Kid," the larger man urged, slapping him lightly on the face, "you aren't done yet. Let's get you up."

Though he could not find the energy to question the directive, Adam allowed himself to be lifted into the chair. Before they could strap him into the seat, however, he let out a guttural cry and arched his back. With his hands still bound behind him, the wet ropes tightened around the already shredded skin, but he barely noticed.

The memories of a sharp pain as his head hit cold steel, the taste of salt water as it gagged his screams, and the simultaneous pull of the ocean, revisited him with a fury. Adam let out a second cry and rocked his head from side to side. His legs slid away, dropping him abruptly back into the chair and the guards swiftly tied him in place.

He heard their voices, telling him to relax, telling him he was okay, but Adam could not react to their attempts at comfort. Despite the blanket that was draped across his back, he was shivering uncontrollably. Doubled over in the chair, he coughed violently, gasping for breath as he tried to concentrate on something other than the roar of the ocean.

"It's all right," a male voice promised. "You're safe now."

Shaking his head, Adam raised his eyes toward the voice. Even with the intense, painful gleam of the sun in his face, he saw the black hood clutched tightly in the man's hand. Instantly, his chest seemed to constrict and his eyes widened, while he tried desperately to pull away.

"I'm sorry," Ian whispered, leaning forward.

Darkness enveloped him and, when the wheelchair moved, a new wave of panic rose within him. Instinctively doing as he'd been trained, Adam's mind began factoring the ocean into the possible horrors that awaited him.

If they dragged him out of the chair and tossed him into the ocean again, so soon, he doubted he would have the energy to keep himself afloat. If they rolled him into the ocean, strapped into the wheel chair, his lungs would explode before he ever had a chance of freeing himself. If they . . .

The chair turned right, away from where he knew the edge of the ship was. For a moment, Adam relaxed and, by the time the thought that he might be tossed off the Port side entered his mind, the chair turned again. Suddenly, the heat of the sun disappeared and he knew he was inside.

"Put him in there."

He recognized Lyle's voice and held his breath. The chair moved again and he heard a door open. Thick, humid air filled his lungs faster than the ocean water had a few minutes before and, at first, unsure of its source, he resisted the warmth. With each tentative breath, though, Adam realized his trembling begin to gradually disappear.

"I'll take it from here," Lyle said, "I'll call you if I need you."

There was a faint response from one of the guards as the door squeaked closed.

* * *

"Did you say something?" he asked, rolling down the window.

Miss Parker shook her head. Now was not the time to bring up their six-month separation.

His dark eyes floated over her face, then down to her body. Watching his gaze, Miss Parker unfolded her arms and raised an eyebrow when he finally returned his attention to her face. Silently, she dared him to make a comment but, instead, the man sighed and looked forward.

"Do I have permission to leave?" he growled.

"That depends. Are you going home or on some cross country nature hike?" she hissed. Placing both hands against the car, she leaned heavily against the door. "Because, honestly, considering your recent actions, I couldn't even hazard a guess. You're not the same guy I knew six months ago, Jarod. You've become a selfish SOB."

As soon as the words were out, she saw something in his eyes shift and the muscles in his jaw tighten. She had hit a nerve. For a brief moment, she considered pushing him for answers however, as soon as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. Goading Jarod into an argument was never a good idea. Though it might give her some insight into his thoughts and activities, the Pretender had a talent for taking her questions and turning them back on her. More than likely, her actions of the last six months would be brought up and she was not prepared to discuss them. Not here. Not now.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, sarcastically, "I want to call my parents, take a shower and shave. Of course, being the selfish SOB I am, I probably won't do them in that order."

Without waiting for a response and barely allowing her enough time to step back, Jarod threw the car into drive. He gunned the engine and the tires skidded, fish tailing slightly at the mouth of the parking lot, but Jarod immediately adjusted for his error and, a second later, the SUV was roaring away from her.

* * *

Before Adam had a chance to react to the fact he was alone with Lyle, the layers of blankets were peeled away from his body and the cool blade of a knife slipped between his wrists. He heard a soft snap a split second before he felt the ropes fall away. Though he tried to draw them into his own lap, his hands were brought forward and, for a few silent moments, Adam relaxed as they were gently massaged.

When the soft pressure moved up his left arm and started across his shoulder, Adam forced himself to ask, "W-what do you want?"

"Cooperation," Lyle replied in a low voice. Kneading the muscles of Adam's right arm, he added, "For your sake, I hope you aren't as stubborn as Jarod. It took him weeks, and several brutal lessons, to learn that cooperation is the key to survival."

Too tired and sore to trust himself to comment, Adam shook his head. He did not want to discuss Jarod with anyone on this ship, especially Lyle. The more Jarod's name came up, the greater the chance he would betray his brother.

"Now, relax," Lyle said, slowly removing the hood. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He blinked a few times, then Adam's eyes darted around the small bathroom. There were no windows but, even in the low light, he could see the large towels perched on a table in the corner of the room. A medical kit was open on the floor and, when Adam's gaze fell on the bathtub and the steam that rose from it, he looked back at Lyle. The man smiled menacingly and reached for the knife that was laying beside the wheelchair.

"Relax," he repeated, when Adam inhaled sharply. "If I wanted you dead, you would be at the bottom of the ocean right now."

After slicing through the fabric of the tunic several times, Lyle placed the weapon on the floor. By the time he removed the remnants of the shirt, Adam was shivering again. Bringing his arms over his chest, the boy lowered his head and stared at the ceramic floor while the man pulled away the tattered bandage Claire had applied earlier.

"Stand up."

Slowly sliding his hands to the arms of the chair, Adam ignored the pain in his wrists and pushed himself to his feet, only to lose his balance when the room began to tilt. He fell forward, the chair tipped over, and suddenly, he found himself trapped in Lyle's arms.

Using his body to support the boy's weight, Lyle pulled at the thin cotton pants that clung to his captive's legs, ignoring the boy's weak attempts at resistance. When the clothes were finally in a ball at their feet, he led Adam to the bathtub and, carefully, into the warm water.

"I assume you can take it from here," he said, holding out a washcloth and bar of soap.

Nodding dumbly at the man, he took the objects and dropped his eyes to the water.

"Call me when you're done," the man ordered, moving the wheelchair to the far end of the room.

"I don't think you can manage to get out of the tub without killing yourself and I need you alive."

"Why? Wh-what do you want from me?"

Lyle crouched beside the bathtub. With his elbows on his knees, he looked at the boy until Adam shifted nervously under his gaze. "I want us to work together - to help each other. It's an offer I made to Jarod, once, and he turned me down without considering how beneficial a mutual partnership could be. I'm hoping you're not quite as short sighted. With your brain and my leadership skills . . ."

Adam raised his eyes, without raising his head, and glowered at his captor. "W-why would you think I would work with you? H-he didn't."

Though he was visibly annoyed at being interrupted, Lyle answered the question without a reprimand. Instead, he filed away the boy's disrespect with the thought that correcting it would be the focus of their first private session. By the time the retraining was complete, Gemini would be as submissive and respectful as Jarod had once been.

"Two reasons, actually. The first is because, unlike Jarod, you had the advantage of being raised by Raines. You and I have been trained to think the same."

"We do not think alike."

"You can deny it all you want," Lyle shrugged, "but it doesn't make it any less true."

"You said you had two reasons," the boy groaned, leaning back in the tub. "What is the second?"

"I'll help you into a warm bed and allow you to make one, thirty-second phone call to anyone you want."

Adam tilted his head to one side and stared at the man. "You expect me t-to agree to help you, in ex-exchange for a thirty-second phone call?"

"Don't forget the warm bed. Considering the color of your lips, the stutter in your voice and the goose-bumps on your skin, I would guess you could use one," Lyle taunted, dipping his fingers in the warm water. Instinctively, Adam brought his knees as close to his chest as he could manage, tilting them toward Lyle.

"Besides, I would think you, of all people, would see the advantages associated with my offer," the man continued, calmly. "Thirty seconds is plenty of time to say goodbye, to tell someone where to find you, or to ask why they betrayed you."

"No one in my family betrayed me," he insisted.

A slow grin emerged across Lyle's face as raised himself to his full height. "Are you sure about that? There is one person who has a motive to want you to live the rest of your life with me."

Though there was a part of him that wanted to pursue the subject, Adam decided to let the comment die unacknowledged. "What do you ex-expect from me, in re-return for this phone call?"

"Now, if I told you that, it would ruin the surprise."

Pulling the door open, Lyle had stepped into the adjoining room when his face suddenly darkened and he looked back at the boy. "Tell me who you are."

The words startled him. His hand clenched the wet cloth tightly and the muscles in his neck stiffened but Adam dropped his eyes and, quietly, answered, "I am your pr-property, yours to do with as you see f-fit."

"See? You're learning faster than Jarod already," he smiled, closing the door behind him.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer in part 1

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has either sent me a private email or posted a review about this story. I'm really glad you're enjoying it or, at the very least, sticking with it to see what I have planned ;-P

Survival II: Retribution  
by imagine

Part 8

Miss Parker headed to the beach house a few minutes after Jarod, however her mind was not on her driving. Preoccupied with the discussion she was going to have to force herself to have with the Pretender, about the last six months, she saw very little of the road or the minor traffic laws she broke. There were things he needed to know, things she hoped he would be able to explain - like the regular shipments to Denver, Atlanta and Phoenix. Shipments that should have stopped over a year ago.

When she first discovered them, her instinct had been to destroy the facilities. It didn't take long, though, for her to realize that they would be quickly replaced with another lab and she would have shown her hand. Instead, she decided the best course of action was to find out where, and how, the shipments were originating. To date, she had been unable to sift through the maze of couriers and phony corporations that hid the information from her.

She was about five miles from the beach house when her cell phone rang.

"What?"

"Um, it's me. I have that information you wanted - about the women."

There was something about his voice that suddenly made her aware of her surroundings. Looking around, she was surprised to find how far she had driven and equally startled to realize she had no recollection of the trip. Without hesitation, she pulled the car into a gas station parking lot.

"What did you find, Broots?"

"Well," he sighed, "I couldn't find anything that connected any of the victims to Jarod, or his family, in the Centre archives or Lyle's and Raines' personal files."

"But, you did find something." It was not a question, just a simple, statement of fact.

"Only that Jarod used the same surnames in his pretends," he answered. When the woman did not respond, he continued slowly, "Jennifer Forrest. He used the name Forrest when he helped find that student in the mountains. You remember, it was when he met Nia."

"I remember," she said softly.

"Um, yeah. Barber was the name he gave the Sheriff in Arizona," he continued, adding, sadly, "When Kyle was killed."

"And Pearce?"

He sighed. "That was the name he was using when he took on the identity of George Harper."

"Harper's kid had been abducted and Jarod saved him," she finished. Nodding, Miss Parker leaned back, her eyes staring blindly at the ceiling of the vehicle. Suddenly, she was tired. Though there were a myriad of thoughts running through her head, she asked, "I don't suppose it is possible this is all coincidence, is it?"

He hesitated a moment before answering, "Not likely."

Cool air rushed into the room and, instinctively, Adam slid lower in the water as Lyle entered.

"Are you ready?"

Keeping his eyes averted, Adam nodded.

Holding a pile of folded clothes, the man crossed to where the wheelchair was parked. He dropped the garments on the corner table, picked up two large towels and slid the chair closer to the tub. Without a word, he stepped behind Adam, wrapped his arms across the boy's chest and pulled the teen out of the water. Less than a minute later, Adam was sitting with fresh clothes at his feet, one towel wrapped around the lower half of his body and another draped over his neck, covering his chest and shoulders. Lyle was standing at the door.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, unrolling his shirt sleeves. "You don't expect me to dry and dress you, too, do you?"

Embarrassed, Adam shook his head.

Keeping his eyes lowered, he quickly patted himself dry and pulled the clean tunic over his head. The pants took a little longer to manipulate but he managed to bring them to his knees, without standing. Exhausted, he had just let out a soft sigh of frustration when Lyle appeared at his side.

Lifting the boy to his feet long enough for him to bring the pants to his waist, the man said nothing. Instead, he waited until Adam was seated again, then rolled the chair into the adjoining room, positioning it next to the queen-sized bed.

Adam glanced longingly at the warm bed, then looked back at Lyle. "You haven't told me what I have to do, in return."

"You're right, I haven't."

"Hon, are you all right?"

The woman's voice surprised him. Looking up, he found Claire standing at the door, holding a tray of food and wearing an expression he might have been persuaded to believe was concern. Sliding the tray onto the night table, the woman did not wait for a response. She moved in front of the boy and wrapped her arms around his. "Come on," she said, "let's get you into bed. You need . . . "

Angrily pulling out of her grasp, Adam stared at Lyle defiantly.

"It seems Gemini doesn't like my terms," Lyle answered, grinning at his captive.

"Blind obedience is not an acceptable term," Adam retorted.

There was a long silence, during which Lyle's attention drifted between the boy, the woman and the fit of the glove that covered his left hand. Aware that he was being watched, he moved from one end of the room to the other, peeling back the coverings on the window just far enough for him to see the ocean.

After commenting, to no one in particular, that dark clouds were rolling in, he turned away from the window as Adam slid his hand over his eyes. When the boy suppressed a yawn, Lyle reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small cell phone.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said, dropping the device in Adam's lap. "Make the phone call and you're that much closer to sleep."

"And, if I don't?"

Lyle raised an eyebrow and shot an amused glance toward Claire before looking back at the boy.

"I am sure Claire and I can find something to occupy your time until the drugs we pump into your body demand you rest. There are floors to be washed, walls to be painted, boxes to be moved, and, of course, an ocean of encouragement at our disposal."

Adam said nothing but dropped his eyes to the phone.

Lyle tilted his head to one side and stared at the boy. "Now, do you want to make the call, or should we do things the hard way? You can make the call now, while you're still fairly coherent, or later, when I guarantee you will find it difficult to string two words together."

Adam turned the device over in his hand several times, reminding himself that, except for Jarod, the telephone numbers for everyone he cared about were programmed into the small item. For reasons he could not explain, the thought made him feel both secure and anxious.

"Why do you want me to make this call, so badly?"

"I think a better question is: Why_ **don't**_ you want to make the call," the man replied. "I'm offering you closure, a chance to say anything you want to a family you insist loves you. And, yet, you continue to refuse. Could it be that you are finally accepting the truth that one of them is the reason you are here? Or, maybe, you don't care about them as much as you claim."

When he finally forced himself to look up, he was not surprised to find Lyle and Claire watching him.

"I will not help you hurt anyone," he said softly.

Claire stepped to his side and laid a soft hand on his arm. When he looked at her, she brought the other hand up and softly stroked his hair. "Everything will be all right, as long as you do as you're told. No one **_wants_** to hurt you."

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, casually wiping away the tears that had formed.

"Once you've proven that you can be trusted, and that you will do as you are told, you will be given bits of freedom," Lyle added. When the boy looked up at him, he added, "Time in the sun, lower doses of the drugs, and rest in a room like this one are all rewards you can earn."

"But, first, you have to cooperate," Claire said, finally pulling her hand away.

Adam dropped his eyes back to the cell phone and, rubbing his temple with his free hand, he sighed. Maybe, once he slept and, once the level of drugs in his system dropped, he could figure out a way home. Maybe things would make sense again.

"I can call anyone I want?" he asked, not looking up.

"That's right," Lyle nodded, moving in front of the boy, "but you only have thirty seconds. The clock starts the moment you finish dialing."

Taking a deep breath, Adam nodded and bit back the argument that came to mind. With trembling hands, he punched the first number programmed in his speed call list and silently prayed the call would be answered on the first ring.

It was.

"M-mom?"

There was a slight hesitation before the woman responded and, in that time, Adam saw Lyle drop his eyes to his wrist watch.

"Adam? Adam, is that you?"

The sound of her fear, her relief, and her desperation brought his attention away from his kidnapper but it also made him falter. Suddenly, the only thing he could think of was that he had been right. There was no way the woman on the other end of the phone had willingly given him back to the Centre and the relief he felt was overwhelming.

"Adam! Baby, answer me. Are you all right? Where . . . "

"I-I'm all right," he interrupted shakily. Lyle mouthed that fifteen seconds remained and, Adam hurriedly added, "I don't have much time, though."

"Where are you?"

Aware that time was running out, Adam rubbed his forehead with a trembling hand. He searched his memory for the name of the ship, or some clue to give as to his whereabouts but nothing came to mind. It frustrated him because, somewhere, he knew he had the information his mother was asking him to relay.

"I don't know," he finally said, sadly. "On a sh-ship."

"Ten seconds," Lyle said, rising from the bed as he continued to monitor the time, "You'd better hurry."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry about," she promised, her voice growing thicker with tears. "You have not done anything wrong. We'll find you. I promise."

"Five seconds."

"Please," he begged, glaring angrily at Lyle through fresh tears. "Mom, I .. I d-don't have much time. It's important that you know . . ."

"Three seconds."

"I love you," he said rapidly, tightening his hold on the phone, "T-tell Dad. Tell Emily. T-tell .. everyone I love them and I'm s-sorry I wasn't better at . . ."

"Okay, times up."

And, with that, Lyle snatched the phone from the boy's hand and disconnected the call.

* * *

Jarod entered the house calling for Emily. He moved quickly through the house, repeating her name as he peered into the kitchen, on the deck, into Adam's room and, finally, into his own.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, moving behind her.

Turning away from the window, she looked up at him and shook her head.

"Nothing," she replied, moving around him as she motioned toward the desk. "Since you did not want the newspapers thrown away, I brought them in here. Something caught my eye and I guess I got distracted."

He glanced at the stack of periodicals, then followed his sister into the living room. "Are you all right?"

Nodding, Emily pulled on the door that led to the deck and stepped outside. With a heavy sigh, she leaned against the railing and trained her eyes on the surf. When his hand slid to her shoulder, Emily abruptly pulled away and looked at him. The sharpness of her gaze made Jarod tense and step back but it was the concern in her voice that made him relax.

"Are _you_ all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he smiled, softly stroking her right arm. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

"What happened to your eye?" she asked, straightening up.

Gingerly touching the bruise, Jarod shrugged. "Honestly, I don't remember even hitting it. But, it's nothing to worry about."

"So, you're okay? You're not seriously hurt?"

When he nodded, she let out a sigh of relief. Then, without warning, Emily brought both hands to her brother's chest and shoved him backwards. Jarod stumbled, temporarily regained his balanced when he grabbed the railing, and then lost it again when his sister pushed him a second time. He turned his shoulder to her, hoping to ebb his sister's attack, but Emily seemed unconcerned with which part of his body she bruised.

"How dare you?" she hissed, finally stopping her assault when he dropped down to the steps leading to the beach. "Do you have any idea how worried Parker and I have been? Do you have any idea how many times Mom has called, looking for you?"

"Emily . . ."

"This has got to stop, Jarod," she demanded, talking over his interruption. "It's bad enough that we have to worry about Adam, we don't need to be worrying about you, too."

Grabbing both his sister's hands, as she tried to hit him again, Jarod moved from the stairs to the patio. Looking down on her, he watched her face darken and her eyes narrow as she struggled to be released but Jarod held her firmly by the wrists.

"We talked about this last night. You knew what I was doing and agreed that it was important. You said you understood."

"Well, I lied," she spat, finally pulling out of his grasp. "I don't understand why you're doing what you're doing and I don't think it's more important than finding . . ."

"I never said it was more important than finding Adam," he growled. "We talked about this. I explained everything to you."

"Then, maybe you should explain it to me."

Jarod swung toward the familiar voice. The woman stood in the doorway of the house, her arms crossed in front of her.\

* * *

His eyes still trained on the boy, Lyle held the cell phone out to Claire. "Your turn. Remember what I said: no more than two minutes, and toss the phone into the ocean when you're done."

Adam shot a quick look at the woman, then brought his gaze back to Lyle. For the first time, he wondered about the partnership between the two.

"What happens now?" he asked, when Claire was gone. His voice was strained but, despite Lyle's heavy, hungry stare, he managed to keep his words above a whisper. He told himself they actually sounded confident but, he knew it was a lie.

Without responding, Lyle rose from the bed and leaned forward, sliding his hands under the boy's arms. Adam tensed at the touched but, as he understood the man was helping him int the bed, did not resist the assistance. It wasn't until Lyle took a step back that Adam slowly released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Settled on the bed, flat on his back with his legs stretched out in front of him, he watched the man retrieve two small cases from the drawer of the night stand.

"I have to admit," Lyle said, nonchalantly, "I was surprised that you called Margaret and not Jarod."

"Jarod is dead," Adam replied, convincingly. He'd repeated the statement so often, since being kidnapped, he was beginning to wonder if it was, in fact, the truth.

Shooting the boy a quick smile over his shoulder, Lyle shook his head. "Now, we both know better, don't we?"

"You were there. He and Miss Parker died in the fire."

"Yes, I was there," Lyle replied, "but I also know that things are not always as they appear. Parker thought she killed me once, too."

"Too bad she was wrong," he mumbled, turning his head away. "Jarod would have been spared everything that happened last year and I wouldn't be here right now."

When Lyle turned and took a seat onto the bed, Adam suddenly realized he had spoken the words aloud. It wasn't until the man leaned forward, though, that he began to wonder if he had said anything else.

"Jarod is the reason you're here," he whispered.

Adam studied the man's face. His first instinct was to deny the charge, on his brother's behalf, but something in Lyle's eyes made him unsure. Various scenarios sped through his mind, in a desperate effort to explain Lyle's words but the only ones that made sense were not comforting.

"Tell me you had not considered the fact that Jarod might want retribution for the pain you caused him last year," Lyle dared, his tone taking on a deeper quality as his straightened his posture. "You caused his capture. You handed him to me on a silver platter. Now, he's done the same to you."

With Lyle's words still echoing in his mind, Adam shook his head and absently turned his eyes on the night table. Scissors, cotton swabs, two plastic zip-lock bags, syringes, a small bottle of liquid, and an empty vial were spread out at the edge of the table. He stared at the items but could not make himself be more concerned with their purpose than with what Lyle was telling him.

"You're lying," he managed, though the words lacked any conviction.

"Am I? This is Jarod's brand of justice," the man responded, finally sliding from the bed. "He wants you to experience the same horrors he did."

Jarod's brand of justice. The words seemed to echo in the room, bringing to mind all the forms of retribution Jarod had used on various villains. Adam swallowed hard and tried to force himself to take deep, even breaths but the exercise was not only futile, it managed to enhance the panic attack. Too many doubts and insecurities he had never realized he was nursing suddenly surfaced in the seconds after Lyle had spoken the words. No matter how hard he tried to gain control of his thoughts, Adam found it increasingly difficult to formulate a response, let alone comfort himself.

"Jarod has wanted you out of his family from the first moment you betrayed him," Lyle continued.

Though the boy shook his head at the words, and stared at the man with wide, incredulous eyes, he could not find his voice. In fact, his world had tilted so dramatically in the last few moments, he was not aware of the syringe Lyle held in his hand, until it invaded his arm. And, by the time his mind told him to pull his arm away, the needle had already been removed.

He watched, mutely, as Lyle transferred the blood sample into a small vial.

"When he rescued you from Donoterase, he honestly thought you would be grateful," the man continued, sliding the vial into a small cooler. "And, being Jarod, when you told him how you felt, that night at the warehouse, he told himself it was his fault you were so angry."

Adam continued to shake his head, fighting the tears of frustration and fear that were beginning to surface. He remembered the conversation in the warehouse and the wedge he had intentionally placed between himself and Jarod. Desperate to keep the relationship he had begun to build with Major Charles and, without having any experience with how a family operated, he had been forced to draw from his life with Mr. Raines. As a result, he had decided that Jarod's existence was detrimental to his own happiness.

"Of course, when he found out you developed the drugs and willingly provided me with what I needed to capture him, his guilt transformed into a deep-seeded hatred."

"I developed the antidote," he countered, meekly.

"Too little, too late," Lyle shrugged. "As far as Jarod, or anyone else, was concerned, the damaged had been done."

"You're wrong," he managed, forcing himself to use a stronger voice. "Jarod and I had a long talk. He forgave me for what I did and we started our relationship over."

"Is that so?"

The young man nodded, then dropped his eyes from Lyle's face to his hands. As the man approached with the scissors, Adam's heart beat accelerated. Instinctively, he used his legs to scoot to the far end of the bed. Before he knew what happened, however, his captor had him by the hair and was pulling him back to where he had begun.

"You are never to pull away from me," he hissed. "Is that clear?"

When he heard his voice respond agreeably, Adam closed his eyes. Seconds later, he was abruptly released and, surprised, he opened his eyes. Without a word, Lyle showed him the lock of hair he held in his hand, then turned away.

"You know," he said, calmly sliding the sample into one of the zip-lock bags, "I wouldn't be telling you these things, if I did not have the proof."

Adam said nothing.

Lyle faced the boy and held up one of the cotton swabs. "As soon as we're done here, I am going to let you hear, for yourself, how Jarod feels about you. Providing, of course, that you cooperate."

The words made Adam stiffen, a heart beat before Lyle attacked. With one hand across his captive's forehead and eyes, he pinched the young man's nose. Though he struggled valiantly, it took Adam only a few seconds before his need for air forced him to open his mouth. Without hesitation, his abuser's free hand landed on his chin and pried it open further. The gloved hand only allowed a fraction of the air he needed into his lungs while the swab ran down the inside of his mouth. Instinctively, he grabbed Lyle's hand, determined to pull it away, but the man suddenly stepped back and Adam fell to his side, gasping for air.

Smiling triumphantly, Lyle dropped his prize into the second zip-lock bag and slid it into the cooler beside the hair and blood samples. Looking back at the boy, he watched his Pretender carefully for a moment, proudly taking in the quick breaths and terrified expression that graced the young face. His eyes darting between the tools on the night table and his tormentor, Adam drew his knees to his chest.

"Calm down," he said. "Since this is your first time, and you've been so cooperative, I'm going to cut you some slack. We're done, for now."

Adam's brows furrowed but he did not loosen the hold he had on himself.

"I don't want to run the risk of Claire walking in on us. So, I will take the additional samples tomorrow, when we're alone," he warned, reaching into the table drawer. "If you cooperate as well as you did today, I'm sure we can get it done quickly."

Still staring at the man, Adam said nothing as Lyle retrieved a thin lap top. Making a point of remaining still, when the man sat beside him, the boy concentrated on the computer. Curious, he watched Lyle's fingers fly over the keyboard and, a moment later, a frozen close-up of Jarod's face appeared on the screen.

"Here," he said, sliding the lap top to Adam's lap. "Now, you be a good boy and watch this quietly. I won't be gone long."

With that, the man rose from the bed, retrieved the cooler from the night table and headed toward the door. Before crossing the threshold, however, he faced the boy and, in a dark voice, demanded, "Tell me who you are."

Looking up from the computer screen, Adam met Lyle's eyes briefly before averting them and sullenly replying, "I am your property. Yours to do with as you see fit."

"Good boy," Lyle cooed. "Now watch your video and play close attention."

* * *

"Parker, this is a private discussion between me and my sister. It does not concern you."

"Like hell it doesn't," she snapped, stepping toward him. "Whether you like it, or not, Jarod, I am a part of your life. I want to know what you've been up to and I want to know now."

Refusing to allow himself to be more frustrated by her interference, Jarod turned his back on the brunette. Emily stood at the edge of the deck, blocking the stairs. Her eyes were glistening with unspent tears and, unlike Parker's defiant stance, Emily's arms wrapped around her body in order to provide herself with comfort.

"Em, please, this is between us," he said, softening his tone. Reaching out, he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Give me a few minutes to shower and shave. I'll take you anywhere you want to go to talk this out. I promise . . . "

"No, Jarod. No more secrets. None of us can afford them anymore."

At a loss, Jarod dropped his hand and moved to the middle of the patio, his eyes darting between the two women. She felt his frustration and straightened her stance, hoping it would give her the confidence she needed not to back down. In her heart, Emily believed that Jarod needed to share his secret with Miss Parker. The fact that she was forcing him to do so, however, was making her insides churn with uncertainty.

When Jarod began pacing like a desperate animal, Emily tightened the hold she had on herself but Miss Parker did not flinch. Instead, her eyes followed the dark man for two passes before she became annoyed enough to demand another explanation for his actions. Just as she opened her mouth, however, the telephone rang.

Jarod's movements came to an abrupt halt and Emily's eyes shifted from her brother to the door. Dropping her arms, she took a step forward, stopping beside the man. Meanwhile, biting back the words she had meant for Jarod, Miss Parker sighed and moved into the house.

"What?" she demanded, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Miss Parker, it's Major Charles. Please, put my children on the line."

Turning, with the intention of calling Jarod and Emily to the phone, Miss Parker was startled to find the two directly behind her. Without a word to either of them, she punched the button that activated the speaker phone and announced, "We're all here, Major."

"Dad, what's wrong?" Jarod asked, "What's happened?"

"Your mother received a telephone call from Adam and, immediately after, she received another one from Claire. We have their demands."

* * *

Adam stared at the screen, his eyes tracing the lines of his brother's face until the image seemed to go out of focus. Frozen in time, the image of Jarod was not only looking directly into the camera but was sitting fairly close. After shooting a quick glance toward the closed cabin door, Adam slid a shaky finger over the key that would start the playback. It hovered a moment while he steeled himself for what he was about to see. After all, if Lyle was insisting he view it, the recording could not be good. Taking a deep breath, he punched the button and anxiously gripped the sides of the computer.

_Jarod's eyes were unnervingly steady and trained on the camera. Though his expression was not harsh, it was firm. He was clean shaven and, despite the sweat that beaded on his forehead, he sat back in the chair as if he were comfortable._

"_He shouldn't be here. I told him not to come."_

_"Because of your history with him?"_

_There was another long silence as Jarod dropped his eyes to his hands. After a moment, he rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward in the chair. "Because I want him as far away from me as humanly possible."_

He stopped the recording and stared at Jarod's image. There was something odd and, yet, familiar, about the conversation. Rubbing his forehead and then scratching the beard that was forming on his jaw, Adam shook his head. Though the camera never left Jarod, his mind was painting a shadowed picture of the face that belonged to the second voice. Despite his best attempts, he could not seem to make the image come into focus.

Licking his lips, he glanced at the door again and took a deep breath before dropping his eyes back to the monitor. The bar at the bottom of the screen told him that the recording was only half over but, he did not want to watch the rest. He did not want to hear whatever Lyle was insisting he hear. He did not want to doubt Jarod. After almost a full minute of silence, which seemed to carry the remnants of Lyle's directive, though, Adam pressed the button.

_Jarod was suddenly leaning back in the chair, his left leg crossed over his right knee. His face, though still clean shaven, seemed darker and his voice carried a much heavier tone than it had before. "He has a girlfriend. Her name is Melissa but he calls her Mel. I don't know her last name. It doesn't matter, I suppose." _

"_Why not?"_

_He shrugged and shook his head._ _"She knows nothing about the Centre, nothing about me."_

"_You sound pleased."_

_Leaning forward suddenly, he used a conspiratorial tone, "They are going to a concert on the tenth. My parents will not be with him, neither will Emily."_

"_What does that mean?"_

"_He will be more vulnerable than he ever has."_

Lyle peered in through the opening in the window and smiled. Things were going better than expected. Between the drugs, the fatigue and, now the specially edited recording of Jarod's session, it was only a matter of time before the boy started obeying him without question. Once that happened, he would escalate his plans for Jarod and Miss Parker.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer in part 1

Reminder: this story takes placein 2000

Survival II: Retribution  
by imagine

Part 9

After the call was disconnected and they'd heard everything there was to hear about the phone calls from Adam and Claire, the three said nothing to each other. They stared at the phone sitting in the middle of the table then, slowly, brought their eyes to each other.

Emily was the first to move away. She took a step back from the table, then turned and crossed onto the patio. Miss Parker and Jarod watched, mutely, as the younger woman leaned against the railing and stared out at the ocean.

"Go talk to her," Miss Parker said quietly. "She's scared."

Jarod nodded but, after only a few steps in his sister's direction, he stopped and faced the brunette. He said nothing but she saw his concern and forced a reassuring smile. For some reason, the fact he seemed to remember that Adam was important to her, too, was a surprise.

"I'm fine. I'm going to call Broots," she told him, answering his unspoken question. "I want to find out how long it will take to determine the origin of the signal."

"And, if he says twenty minutes, you'll tell him he has ten," Jarod smiled, nodding knowingly.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

The Pretender shook his head and started for the patio. Over his shoulder, he told her, "You know, Broots lies to you when he gives you time estimates."

"Are you _just_ figuring that out?"

"So, why do you do it?" he asked, facing her. "Why do you play this game?"

She shrugged and smiled. "We have to get our fun somewhere."

He considered her words then, with a small grin, the Pretender nodded and moved onto the patio, closing the door behind him. Other than the fact that Emily straightened her posture as the latch clicked into place, she gave no indication that she heard him approach. It wasn't until he was standing directly behind her that she spoke.

"He told Mom that he was on a ship."

"I know. Broots is pinpointing the location, as we speak."

"What if we're too late?" she asked, facing him. "What if the ship is too far away or changes its course before we can find it? What if it's in the Atlantic, or the Gulf of Mexico or . . ."

"Em, don't do this to yourself. The ship is somewhere off the California coast. We'll find him."

"How do you know?" she demanded. Though she didn't raise her voice, it suddenly held a rough, insistent, quality that Jarod had never heard from her before. "How can you be so sure? We both know that Claire has no intention of giving him back, they could have him stashed anywhere."

"Because Claire told Mom to bring the discs to Venice Beach," he answered, gently sliding his hands over hers. "She knows it would take her at least three hours to get here and there's only about four hours of daylight left. Claire's plan is to get the discs, hand Adam over to Lyle and disappear into the night."

"Lyle and Claire are partners. She could be in California and Adam could already be with Lyle, somewhere in the Greek Islands, for all we know."

"Claire may be a lot of things," Jarod replied, "but stupid isn't one of them. Adam is her only leverage against Mom. She's not going to let Lyle anywhere near him, and run the risk of losing her meal ticket before she has the discs in her hands."

"I hope you're right," she said, softly.

"I am," he promised, pulling the woman to his chest. "Adam will be home, safe, tonight."

Miss Parker waited until the tender embrace between Jarod and Emily ended, then crossed onto the patio. Stepping away from each other, the siblings each kept one arm around the other as they looked at the woman, expectantly.

"Broots is working on tracing the signal," she told them, sliding onto the edge of one of the deck chairs. "He's going to call me back."

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes, tops."

"Then we had better get organized," Jarod replied, moving away from his sister. "We want to be ready to move when he calls. We need a map, weapons, transportation . . ."

He was interrupted by a ringing phone and, confused, his eyes fell on Emily. Embarrassed, the woman retrieved the device attached to her waistband and glanced at the incoming number. Mumbling a quick word of excuse, she brought the phone to her ear and hurried down the steps.

"What the hell was that about?" Miss Parker asked, watching the woman cross to the beach. "Aren't you going to go after her?"

Jarod shook his head, tearing his gaze away from Emily. "It must be important, for her to leave now. She'll tell us about it, when she's ready."

"And, in the meantime?"

He sighed and looked down at his sweat stained clothes. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Otherwise, Lyle will smell us coming."

Before she could utter a word of protest, the Pretender was gone.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, looking back at Emily. "This family is freaking nuts."

* * *

Stopping the playback, Adam leaned back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. He was missing something. He must be missing something.

His breaths were coming in short, anxious spurts and his mouth was dry. Looking at the frozen image of his brother, he took a deep breath and shook his head. Glancing at the door, he looked back at the computer and removed the recording from the screen. The toolbar, at the bottom, stated the date was August 13th. If it could be trusted, it meant that he had been away from his family for three days. Only three days.

Swallowing hard, Adam began scrolling through the programs built into the laptop. Though he did not expect Internet access, he hoped to find something that might explain the recording, or an explanation of Lyle's plans. Instead, he found himself scrutinizing the video file he had just viewed.

_Modified 8/13/00 2:27pm_

Somehow, the fact that the video had been edited two hours before did not make him feel any better. He could not imagine a scenario in which his brother would say the things he did, let alone a forum in which he would allow himself to be recorded.

Rubbing his forehead, and then his eyes, he switched off the computer and slid it off his lap, onto the mattress. There was no question that Lyle was trying to manipulate him, he just wasn't sure it was working.

Suddenly, Adam was exhausted. He slid under the blankets and rolled to his side, pulling the blankets with him.

"Asleep already? It's still early."

The young man turned to look at the man. Lyle smirked at his charge's annoyance as he sat beside him and commanded, "Sit up."

Deciding he did not have any option, Adam pulled himself into a sitting position. Leaning against the slatted headboard, he hugged himself and brought his eyes to Lyle's.

"I've done what you asked," he said. "I made the phone call. I watched your propaganda. What happens now?"

"Now?" Lyle pulled the computer onto his lap and opened the monitor. "Now you tell me who you are."

Adam's jaw tightened at the command, and his eyes flickered with defiance, but he did not hesitate to repeat the mantra. When he was done, he dropped his eyes but tightened the hold he had on himself.

"Jarod wants you here."

He shook his head.

"_I want him as far away from me as humanly possible." _

He had expected Lyle to play the recording but the sound of Jarod's voice still startled him. Flinching, as if he had been struck, Adam glanced into the clear blue eyes of his captor. Despite the unspoken threat he saw in Lyle's face, the young man nervously shook his head and looked away."Jarod wants you here," Lyle repeated. "Say it."

"No."

"_I want him as far away from me as humanly possible." _

He flinched, a second time and closed his eyes.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Gemini," Lyle growled. "You won't like it."

"Jarod does not want me here," he whispered. Slowly looking up, he steeled himself for the punishment he knew would follow. "Jarod does **_not_** want me here."

Lyle's eyes narrowed. Slowly, sliding the computer onto the mattress, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. When the hand was visible again, he saw the boy shift on the bed, trying to subtly put distance between them. Immediately, he grabbed the boy's arm and plunged the needle into the soft spot at the crook of his elbow.

A short, breathless scream escaped Adam's throat a second before he lost consciousness.

* * *

"I don't have a lot of time, Doctor," she said. "Can I call you tomorrow?"

He stiffened at the request then fought the urge to agree to her request. "I'm afraid I'm leaving town for a few days, Emily. If we don't talk now, I may not be able to get back to you for another week."

Frustrated, she stared at the beach house as Jarod disappeared inside. She couldn't wait that long. "All right. I guess we'll have to do this now."

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Jarod. I need to know how his therapy is progressing," she replied. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"What did Jarod tell you, when you asked him?"

"Dr. Kelly, I am not in the mood for games," she snapped. "Tell me when you saw my brother last."

"You sound like an intelligent woman," he said, condescendingly, "so I'm sure you are aware that, as Jarod's doctor, I am forbidden from telling you anything about his treatments."

"Jarod is getting treatments? What kind of treatments? I thought all you did during the sessions was talk."

"I apologize for poor choice of words," he replied, silently chastising himself. "But it does not change the fact that I am bound by Doctor/Patient Confidentiality."

"I'm his sister," she hissed, knowing it would not matter.

"I understand your relationship but, I'm afraid that is not the issue. You said, on my machine, that you were concerned about Jarod's behavior. What, exactly, is concerning you?"

She hesitated, suddenly unsure. There was something about the change in the man's tone that gave her a bad feeling. Looking back at the house, she saw Miss Parker descend the steps to the beach.

"I have to go, Doctor," she said, turning away from the approaching woman. "I just need to know if you think his sessions with you are helping."

He thought about how incomplete her request was, for only a second, then smiled and nodded. "Jarod's sessions have been extremely beneficial."

Without another word, she disconnected the call and spun on her heel as Miss Parker came to a stop in front of her.

"You want to tell me who that was?" she asked.

Emily shook her head and started toward the house. "Not especially."

"I see," she muttered, following the woman across the beach, "more secrets. When are you going to start trusting me?"

The woman came to a sudden stop and glared at the brunette. "If I didn't trust you, Miss Parker, you wouldn't be here. In case you have forgotten, Jarod isn't thrilled about your presence."

"Well, as you reminded me earlier, I'm not here for Jarod, am I?"

"No, you're not," she snapped. "So, stop asking so many questions and start concentrating on getting Adam back. Once he's safe . . ."

"So, the phone call _was_ about Jarod."

"I didn't say that."

"If it was about Adam, you would have told me," she deduced. "After all, Adam is the reason I'm here, right?"

Emily's eyes narrowed and, spinning on her heel, she started up the steps to the patio. "Stop twisting my words."

"How can I twist your words?" the woman shot back, grabbing Emily's arm. "You haven't _said_ anything. I want to know what you and Jarod were arguing about, when I came in, and I want to know now."

Pulling from Miss Parker's hold, the younger woman glared at her for almost a full minute before slowly turning and moving up the last two steps. When she was in the center of the patio, she faced the woman who had followed her up the steps and, softly, replied, "Secrets. We were arguing about secrets."

"What kind of secrets? About where he goes and what he does when he isn't here?"

"They aren't my secrets to tell," she sighed, moving into the house. "But, for what it's worth, I hope Jarod tells you soon."

"Did I hear my name?" Jarod asked, entering the room.

Following Emily inside, Miss Parker closed the patio doors and looked at the Pretender. Showered, clean shaven and donned all in black, he looked like the man she had chased for so many years, the man she thought was gone.

"Only if you were talking to yourself," she replied sharply. "We were talking about Adam."

"Did Broots call?"

Miss Parker shook her head and glanced at her watch. As if on cue, her cell phone rang. Picking it up, she glanced at the displayed number and smiled at Jarod as she brought the phone to her ear.

"I hope you have good news, Broots, because we're running out of time."

* * *

The first sensation that pierced his mind was that he was cold and the second sensation was that he was hanging by his wrists.

Slowly, Adam opened his eyes only to find the room was too dark for it to have mattered. The cold seemed to intensify by each passing second and, as he tried to ignore his body's shivering, the young man tried to bring his eyes into focus. Shadows appeared on the edges of his sight but, by the time he turned toward them, they were gone.

The room lurched and, for a brief second, his long body swung like a pendulum. His back and legs struck items hiding in the darkness, and blood trickled down his arms as the chains dug deeper into his wrists. When the room tossed him a second time, Adam let out a muffled, but guttural cry.

Reminding himself that he was on a ship, he tried to synchronize his body's movements to those of the vessel. Though he could not touch the floor, he hoped that by tensing and relaxing the muscles in his arms, he might be able to control the speed or width of his swaying. As he tried to concentrate on the task, light sliced through the darkness.

"_He will be more vulnerable than he ever has." _

The sound of his brother's recorded voice, and the sudden light that flooded the room, pushed away all thoughts of controlling the swing of his body. Turning his head toward the sound, he squinted into the glare and saw Lyle's silhouette in the open door. The man said nothing, just stared at his captive with ice blue eyes, his breaths becoming puffs of smoke as he moved further into the room.

Adam drew his attention away from Lyle as the ship bobbed to the left, once again throwing him against the wall of the freezer. The bruises on his back and shoulders throbbed but he did not cry out.

"_I want him as far away from me as humanly possible." _

Lyle came to a stop only inches from the younger man, as his hip ricocheted off the corner of a metal box that normally held frozen poultry and dairy products. Holding up the small tape recorder, he waited patiently until Adam's eyes were on him. It was obvious the boy was in pain but, it was the confusion and fear in his eyes that made the man smile sinisterly.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Gemini," he warned. "You won't like it."

He knew what the man wanted and, out of loyalty to his brother, he did not want to submit to his will. But, when the ship shifted again, this time knocking him against a metal shelf of ripped boxes and glass jars, every cell of Adam's body seemed to scream for him to surrender. He stared at the man, his eyes filling with tears of frustration and pain.

"Jarod wants me here," Lyle growled, giving his charge a violent push that catapulted him into the wall. "Say it."

His body swung uncontrollably for a few seconds and, involuntarily, Adam bit his tongue. Taking a deep breath, he gritted his teeth and glared at his attacker.

"No."

"What the hell is going on here?"

Adam looked up as Claire stalked into the room but keeping his head up required more strength than he had and, immediately, he let it drop to his chest.

"Why is he in here?" she demanded, her eyes darting from Lyle to the sweeper at the door.

"Actually, he's in the middle of a well-deserved lesson," Lyle replied, calmly. Facing the woman, he looked over her shoulder at the sweeper and motioned toward the boy. "Take him down and bring him to the railing. I think it's time for another swim."

Without realizing he did so, Adam let out a low, moan and shook his head at the threat.

"What did I tell you about staying away from him? You are not taking him anywhere. Until those discs are in my hands, he belongs to me." Claire's voice took on a venomous quality as she moved to the injured man's side. Laying her hand on Adam's arm as he was guided to the ground, she turned and glared at Lyle. "He's freezing. How long has he been in here?"

"Half hour," he shrugged. "Give or take a few minutes."

"And where were you during this time?" she spat, facing the sweeper. "You were supposed to be guarding him."

When the man glanced over her shoulder at Lyle, Claire pushed him to the side, muttering that he was useless. Wrapping her arms around Adam, she brought his inert body close to hers, turned her head toward the door and yelled, "Ian! Get in here."

In an instant, the larger of the two guards appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene.

"Take him to his room," she said, carefully transferring Adam into the man's arms. "Make sure he's kept warm and, under no circumstances, are you to leave him alone. Do I make myself clear?"

Glancing at his injured charge, Ian nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Now, go. I'll be along in a minute," she said. When they were gone, she shot an annoyed glare at the remaining two men and motioned toward the door. "Outside. Now."

* * *

"Hon?"

Adam tried to force his eyes open as he listened to the sound of her footfalls on the carpet. Her hand slid across his forehead, pushing back his hair.

"Hon, I know you're tired, but I need you to listen to me."

She shook him, gently. Then, when he did not respond, she became more insistent and rolled him to his back. His head bobbed away from her then, as he brought it back, Adam slowly opened his eyes. The smile she rewarded him with was thin and sympathetic, yet far from comforting. Closing his eyes, he tried to bury deeper under the mound of blankets, hoping she would leave him alone.

When her hand slipped below his covers and wrapped itself around his wrist, Adam's instinct was to pull away but his body refused to react. Her touch was light, gentle, and warm. He let her sandwich his hand between hers and bring it to rest on his chest.

"We need to talk."

"Go away."

"Hon, listen to me. I know you're upset about what happened, but I had nothing to do with it. I was in my cabin, making arrangements."

He wanted to say he didn't care, that he wanted her to leave him alone, but the words wouldn't come.

"Listen to me. This is very important, Hon." Glancing at the door, she squeezed his hand to make sure she had his attention and said, "I want you to trust whatever Ian tells you. Tonight, he speaks for me."

Adam's brows furrowed but he said nothing.

"Did you hear me, Hon? Do you know who Ian is?"

He nodded but, still, did not open his eyes.

"Good. I'm leaving in a bit, to meet Margaret and . . ."

"Collect your ransom," he murmured weakly, rolling his head to the side.

"Lyle is coming with me," she finished, ignoring his interruption. "Well, he's not exactly coming with me, but he is leaving the ship. I refuse to allow him to be alone with you for too long."

Thoughts of the drugs that had been forced on him, his torture in the ship's refrigerator, and the genetic samples that had been taken from him floated through Adam's mind. He wondered what she considered 'too long', but did not voice his question.

"While I'm gone, Ian is going to look out for you. He works, exclusively, for me."

When Adam didn't respond, Claire moved closer. Her hand moved from his chest to his left leg and her breaths pulsed against his cheek.

"No matter what happens," she whispered, "trust whatever Ian tells you. He's going to get you off this ship and take you somewhere Lyle won't find you."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in but, as they did, Adam forced his eyes open. "He's . . . taking me . . . off?"

She nodded, smiling broadly as her free hand caressed his cheek. "That's right. I knew you'd be happy about that."

He searched her face, struggling to make himself understand what she was saying. Had she had a change of heart? Was he going home?

"He'll take you somewhere safe and I'll meet you there," she answered, continuing in a conspiratorial tone. Her hand, now flat against his shoulder, was pressing lightly against the knife wound he'd received from Lyle. He wondered if she realized she was hurting him but did not ask. "Tomorrow, the three of us - you, me and Ian - will go back to the Centre."

As she spoke, his eyes shifted from the woman to the ceiling. When she finished, he nodded and slowly, let them close.

"I understand," he murmured, dejectedly. He wasn't going home.

"I know you're tired and need to rest," she whispered. Still holding his hand, she used her free hand to stroke his forehead. "I just wanted you to know that it will all be over soon."

"Yes, it will," Lyle said from the door.

Adam stiffened at the voice and, for a moment, it seemed as if every one of his internal organs had decided to huddle in the pit of his stomach. Turning his face toward the man, he forced his eyes open and watched Lyle approach. Before the man reached the bed, however, Claire stood and moved between them.

"Haven't you done enough damage? Leave the boy alone for a few hours."

Casting an amused grin in her direction, Lyle moved around the woman and stood over Adam. "Tell me who you are."

Adam was too physically tired and too emotionally beaten to refuse the directive. Desperate for sleep, he took a deep breath and said, "I am your property. Yours to do with, as you see fit."

Pressing his hand over the boy's mouth, Lyle leaned over and whispered, "Jarod is responsible for you being here. Remember that."

* * *

"Do we know what flight Mom and Dad are on?"

Jarod reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and passed his sister a pad of paper that held the information. "It left O'Hare an hour ago. The tickets were delivered to the house a few minutes after Claire's call ended, giving them just enough time to get to the airport. She had it perfectly timed."

"Who paid for the tickets?" Parker asked.

"I don't know, yet," he admitted. "The trail was too complicated and I didn't have time to weed through it. But, I will, as soon as Adam is safe."

Miss Parker nodded and guided the dark SUV onto the expressway. According to Broots' information, the signal originated off the coast, forty miles south of Jarod's beach house.

Immediately after getting the information, Jarod called a friend with a boat docked at a nearby marina. If things went as planned, they would be headed out to sea in less than an hour. If luck was on their side, they would be headed back to shore, with Adam, a few hours later.

For the first time in her life, Miss Parker wanted to believe in luck.

* * *

Suddenly releasing the boy, Lyle moved away from the bed. As he passed Claire, the woman had one hand around the butt of her automatic and the other around the doorknob. He smiled and, as he crossed the threshold, told her, "You do realize that this is my ship. You cannot evict me."

"You are not staying on board this tub with him. Either you leave, or I do - and I will take him with me."

Looking through the still open door at Jarod's clone, Lyle nodded. "I'll go," he nodded. "But only because I have another possession to pick up. Luckily, she will not be as difficult to get control of, as he was."

"What are you talking about?"

He smiled. "Gemini isn't my only investment, you know. I have my fingers in several different ventures."

"Well, if I were you, I would be careful," she shot back. Glancing at Adam, she pulled the door closed then motioned to Lyle's left hand. "It appears that some of your ventures bite."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer in part 1

A/N - Warning: This chapter is almost twice as long as any of the others but, no matter how hard I tried, I could not make myself split it into two. I hope you like it.

**Survival II - Retribution  
**by imagine

Part 10?

He checked the clock on the dashboard and made the turn toward the highway. Claire's drive to Venice Beach and back, including the time she needed to collect the disks from Margaret, would take no more than two hours. If he wanted to beat her back to the ship, he needed to run his errands in ninety minutes or less. Luckily, traffic was light. Fifteen minutes later, he turned down the long driveway that led to the cabin. By the time he came to a stop, Phillip Kelly was descending the steps of the porch.

"Mr. Lyle, I didn't expect to see you again, so soon."

"Until our project is a success, Doctor, you can expect to see me quite often."

Phillip frowned and nodded, stepping back as Lyle slid from his Porsche. "The message you left was rather cryptic. Has something happened?"

"After today's performance, I am beginning to think that hiring you as Jarod's handler may have been a mistake. I want assurances, Doctor, that he will not disappoint me a second time."

Sighing heavily, Phillip followed Lyle to the porch. "Jarod did not disobey you intentionally. If you recall, I explained that certain tasks still needed to be accepted as normal by his subconscious. The fact that he followed as many directives as he did, actually made the test a success."

"A success? Really? Considering I had him conditioned to do most of those tasks last year, I hardly think Jarod's field test could be judged as anything but a colossal waste of my time. You were told, months ago, what I expected from Jarod and you assured me that you could train him accordingly."

"Jarod has been more difficult, at times, than I anticipated," the man nodded, "but I believe that this particular situation has been rectified. At his next test, Jarod will perform to your satisfaction."

Leaning against the wooden railing, Lyle folded his arms across his chest and glared at the man. "You honestly expect me to believe that, in one session, you've convinced Saint Jarod that murder is acceptable."

"Not quite," the man sighed. "I told you. He's starting to question his own actions. I am going to need some extensive time with him, away from his family if we have any hope of . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know what you told me," he hissed, "and you will get your time with him as soon as he completes his assignment. However, in case you haven't been paying attention, if Jarod won't kill on command, he is useless to me."

"I understand the issues you have with Jarod's performance," the man replied, tightly. "That is why, during my session with him, I implanted false memories, using the photos of the other murders."

"How does that help?"

Settling himself onto the cushioned porch swing behind Lyle, the man replied slowly, "Jarod will soon begin suffering from flashes of the images. Whether he realizes it, or not, Jarod's mind and emotions have been an extremely confused state for several months and that can be very dangerous for a Pretender. The fact that he actually witnessed the murders will play to our advantage; Jarod will merge the images and memories. In a sense, he will become you."

The idea that the Pretender was being molded into an image of him made Lyle wonder how Jarod would react, if he knew. It might be worth finding out, he thought.

"How long will the transformation take?"

Folding one knee over the other, the man shrugged. "Twelve to eighteen hours. I'm not saying it won't be traumatic for him but, once he accepts the acts and emotions as his own, his subconscious will follow suit."

"And, when that happens?" he asked, suspiciously.

"It will change the way he sees himself. He will not only believe he is capable of the acts, he will believe he enjoys committing them. Therefore, he will not resist when you give him a similar command."

Lyle straightened his stance and stared down at the man, considering the words for a long moment. He wasn't sure what annoyed him the most, the fact that this doctor was suddenly using a superior tone, or that he, himself, was impressed by the man's solution to the problem. "Exactly how long will it take, for this entire process to be complete?"

"If they haven't started already, the flashbacks should begin very soon. He's going to have to suffer through them for a while, deny them, instinctively try to explain them away, before he'll be able to accept them as real," he answered. Checking his watch a moment, he did some silent calculations then stated, "Based on Jarod's mental state over the last year, twenty four hours."

"Twenty four hours," Lyle repeated doubtfully.

"Yes."

The decisive tone the doctor used was somewhat reassuring, but Lyle was still skeptical. Pacing the width of the porch, he kept his eyes on the other man and considered his options. Finally, when his companion began to fidget in his seat, Lyle nodded to himself.

"All right, let's find out if, after all these months, you actually have learned something about Jarod. Call him now and order him to go for a run at four-thirty, tomorrow night."

"Four thirty is barely twenty-one hours away. You're pushing it," the man protested, sitting forward on the swing. "He needs twenty-four if you want him capable of doing the things you want."

"I want to do some preliminary work with him. By the time I'm done, the twenty-four hour mark will have passed."

"Jarod is very fragile right now, Mr. Lyle. I have to warn you against pushing him too hard . . ."

"Don't worry, Doctor, I have no intention of destroying my prize possession," he grinned. "Just have him go for a run along the Western strip of the beach. It's blocked by boulders about five miles from his house. I will pick him up and bring him here so that we can work with him together before he is given his assignment."

It was obvious the doctor was taken back by the request but he nodded agreeably. "I'm sure I can make the arrangements. What is his assignment going to be?"

"He's going to finish what he started."

Staring at the man as he turned away, Phillip Kelly felt the blood drain from his face. "You mean the girl is still alive?"

"For the time being," Lyle answered, moving down the steps of the porch.

"But, I thought . . ."

"I know what you thought," he said over his shoulder, as he walked, "but I did not finish the job for Jarod, this time. If I have to, I will be extremely disappointed."

"In twenty-four hours, Jarod will do what you ask," the doctor answered, though his confidence had slipped.

"I hope so, for your sake. You see, I am not a patient man, nor do I take disappointment well," he said, as he slid into the vehicle. "If you remember those two things, Doctor, you will lead a long and very successful life."

* * *

After they left him, Adam did his best to keep his eyes trained on the door. Expecting Lyle, or Claire, to return to the room with a warning or threat, he was determined to be awake when they appeared. The problem was that, at the moment, he was barely able to stay awake. He dozed several times, instinctively jarring himself awake within seconds of closing his eyes, knowing that if he slept he would be vulnerable. 

"You can relax now. They left almost fifteen minutes ago."

His head swung to the left as the man stepped from the shadows. He swallowed hard, desperately trying to bring his eyes into focus.

"Hey, it's okay," the man promised, his voice softening. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Adam's brows crinkled as he stared at the blurry image. When it reached out to him, he drew away, forgetting that he was already laying at the edge of the bed. Before his mind could register that he was about to fall, though, he was grabbed and pulled to the center of the mattress.

"Careful. Miss James will have my head if you're hurt while I'm on duty. I'm supposed to protect you. Do you know who I am?"

The man's image slowly came into focus and, as it did, Adam relaxed slightly. "You're Ian."

"That's right." Placing a fleece jogging suit on the bed, he said, "I found these in the dresser."

Adam stared at the items, then at the man.

"They aren't much, but the sun is just setting and it's already starting to cool off. At the very least, these should keep you from getting a chill," he said, helping the boy into a sitting position. "We don't have a lot of time, so let me help you."

"Wh-where are you taking me?" The words were clear and loud enough to be heard, but Ian did not reply. Instead, he pushed the sweatshirt over Adam's head and guided one arm through the sleeve.

"Did something happen?" Adam asked, as his right arm was forced through the sleeve of the sweatshirt. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Lyle is sending someone to, as he put it, guard his interests. I think his name is Willie," he added, off handedly. "Anyway, I think it's best if we're out of here before he shows up. Hey, are you okay?"

Adam's eyes widened and, suddenly, he couldn't find enough air. Shaking his head, he brought it to his knees, trying desperately to curb the memories that were overtaking him.

Feeling insecure about his place in the family, and his relationship with the Major, he had made a deal with Lyle: his freedom for Jarod's. The plan was simple. All it required was for him to inform Lyle of Jarod's whereabouts and then step aside. Once the Pretender was gone, Adam planned on taking his place in the Major's life. Unfortunately, the ambush did not go the way he had simmed and he became the easier target for Lyle's men. As a result, Adam found himself caged in an abandoned warehouse, with Willie as his guard, and primary human contact, for days.

The man had not only been intimidating to look at, he had a short fuse when it came to anything associated with Jarod. Coupled with a physical strength that, unlike Mr. Raines, Lyle had never tried to keep in check, Willie was an extremely dangerous man. When it came to Adam, whom he knew to be Jarod's clone, Willie was also violent.

Ian stopped what he was doing to watch the boy, his eyes darting toward the door and the back again as he tried to decide if he should go for help.

"Are you all right?" he asked, when Adam's breathing finally regulated.

He nodded, and glanced at the man, though his head was spinning and his gut was tightening. At the moment, he could not think of anything more terrifying that being at the mercy of Willie.

"Okay," he said, unsure. "Because we need to get moving."

"Where are you taking me?"

"You know I can't tell you that," the man replied, disappearing into the bathroom. "But, I promise, you'll be better off than you are here."

Ian returned with a glass of water and, without question, the boy accepted the drink. After draining it in four gulps, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Feeling Ian's eyes on him, he shifted his attention from the empty glass to the man and, in a hesitant voice, murmured, "Take me home. Please. My family will . . ."

"Miss James is your family," the man growled. His concern turned to frustration much quicker than Adam could adjust. Grabbing the glass, Ian slid it onto the night table and pushed the boy to his back. He saw the surprise and fear in Adam's eyes but did nothing to reassure his charge. Instead, he snatched the sweat pants from the edge of the bed and began forcing the garment over the light fabric already covering the boy's legs.

"Look, I know enough about you to know that you are not a fool," he barked, finally looking up as he brought the pants to the boy's waist. "And, for the record, neither am I. From this point forward, the Centre is your home. Stop trying to manipulate me and accept your fate."

Adam slowly shook his head and whispered, "I can't. If I accept it, I'll die."

There was something about the boy's tone that caused Ian to soften. The muscles in his face and neck relaxed and, releasing a sympathetic sigh, he moved to the bed. When the boy did not move and the fear in his eyes did not fade, Ian helped Adam to a sitting position, gently bringing his legs over the side of the bed.

"You won't die. Miss James will take care of you."

"No," the boy responded numbly. "I will die. My body just won't realize it, right away."

Ian hesitated at the solemn tone then shook his sadly and carefully slid the boy's bandaged wrists into leather restraints. Though he knew Adam was weak, the sweeper expected some kind of resistance; when there was none, he frowned. Keeping a watchful eye on the boy's blank expression, he carefully wrapped his arms around Adam and pulled the young man to his feet.

"What happens now?" Adam asked, in a small voice, after he was helped into the nearby wheelchair.

In response, Ian slid a blanket around the boy's shoulders and took a step back. With his wrists restrained by a leather belt at his waist and his breaths coming in shallow spurts, Adam slowly looked up at the sweeper. If the man's silence wasn't enough to make him nervous, the apologetic expression that appeared on Ian's face was almost enough to plunge Adam into another fit of panic. Fighting for control of his emotions, he dropped his eyes when Ian lowered his gaze and anxiously followed the man's movements until the black hood was drawn from an inside jacket pocket. His eyes snapped upward, meeting Ian's in confusion.

"I'm sorry," the man whispered. "Miss James wants it this way, for now."

Shaking his head, Adam began pulling at his restraints, his eyes filling with tears of frustration.

"No. Please. I didn't do anything wrong," he whimpered urgently. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"I know," Ian replied, stepping forward. "I'm sorry."

"No. Please."

Ian hesitated a moment but, after taking a deep breath, whispered another word of apology and slid the mask over the young man's face. The tremors and convulsive breaths that followed were almost enough to cause him to disobey orders, to allow his charge the luxury of sight, but Ian resisted. Instead, he knelt beside the wheelchair and brought his hand to the boy's back.

"Calm down," he murmured, softly running his hand across the young man's shoulders. "I'm not going to hurt you. The hood is just because I have to take you outside. Miss James doesn't want you to know where you are. Calm down."

Adam did not hear the words and the touch, though gentle, made him wince. Suddenly, the only thing he was aware of was the darkness around him. Darkness meant nightmares. Darkness drugged him, taunted him and tossed him into the ocean with his hands bound behind his back. Darkness took him further from the life he wanted so badly.

* * *

The boat Jarod borrowed was docked at the far end of the marina. By the time they boarded it and started out of the bay, the sun had completely set. While Miss Parker guided the vessel toward open water, Emily stowed the blankets, water and medical supplies they had brought from the beach house. Though they all hoped to find Adam in good health, they knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. 

The Pretender glanced at his watch, then back at the laptop and frowned as Emily came up behind him.

"We're running out of time," he murmured.

Her brows furrowed. Casting a quick glance at Miss Parker, she stepped beside her brother and stared at the maps and grids that were flashing on the screen in front of him. "What do you mean?"

Jarod kept his eyes on the computer. "There is no telling how many ships have sailed through the area since Broots traced the signal. According to the Coast Guard reports, there have been ten different ships in that area in the past two hours alone."

"What does that mean? Are you saying we're wasting our time out here? Adam isn't gone . . . is he?"

The desperation in her voice made Jarod snap his head to the right and meet Emily's gaze. The woman, slowly lowering herself to a cushioned bench, was staring at him. Her eyes were wide and, despite the darkness, he could see tears forming at the edges.

_Her face stained with blood and dried tears, she looked up at him through a tangle of hair. _

Feeling as if he had been punched in the gut, Jarod let out a soft gasp and dropped his head for a brief moment. Then, almost as quickly as the image appeared, it was gone. His sister was staring at him, her brows furrowing as she waited for him to respond.

Swallowing hard, Jarod reached out and squeezed her hand. "That isn't what I meant. Adam isn't gone, Em. We'll find him."

"Then, what did you mean? Are we going to need to widen our search? Do we need to call in reinforcements?" Pulling away from his touch, Emily stood and slowly began pacing. "Mom and Dad are meeting with Claire so we can't contact them for at least another hour. Broots and Sydney are thousands of miles away. That leaves just us. Maybe we should split up . . ."

"Em, calm down. Lyle and Claire are not going to move the ship until they have the disks. According to the Coast Guard report, which was logged around the time of Adam's call, there were three ships in the area."

She faced him, but said nothing.

Holding up the computer so she could see the report, Jarod said, "This is the latest log and all three are still there. See?"

Her eyes moved to the computer, moving closer to confirm what her brother was telling her. Satisfied, she faced him and, without warning, slapped him across the face.

_He struck her across the face. She cried out. His gloved hand covered her mouth and nose, adding pressure as she writhed beneath him._

"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you get some kind of rush, scaring me to death?" she demanded, her eyes blazing as she watched him rub the cheek she had just abused. "You said we were running out of time! You made me think . . . oh, never mind."

His voice cracked as he whispered, "I'm sorry. I was just reading from the report. The Coast Guard is scheduled to make another pass of the area in a little less than an hour. It's going to take us at least twenty minutes to get to the location, which means we have to find Adam and get out in thirty, if we have any hope of going undetected."

When his sister did not respond, he added, "That's all I meant. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Like hell you didn't," Miss Parker murmured.

Turning toward the brunette, Jarod's confusion turned to annoyance. Emily saw his reaction to Parker's muttering and, as he stood, stepped in front of her brother. Blocking his view of the brunette, she pointed at the computer. "Tell me what this thing says. Tell me how we're going to find Adam."

Without the sun, they only had the stars to guide them and, suddenly, the sky seemed larger than she'd ever realized. Miss Parker glanced at the brother and sister as they huddled around the glow of the computer. When Jarod slid his arm around his sister, protectively, Miss Parker turned her attention back on the darkness that surrounded them and, silently, wished she hadn't given up smoking.

Jarod's words had not been ill chosen, as he claimed. She knew him well enough to know he was feeling insecure about his ability to rescue Adam. Given his history with Lyle, she could almost understand the self-doubt Jarod was harboring. It was the fact that he had chosen to use that moment, and his sister, to bolster his confidence that she was having trouble accepting.

"The likelihood of Adam being on one of these ships is very good," he promised. "We just need to rank them, to decide which one we approach first."

"How do we do that?" Emily asked, as her brother's fingers began dancing across the keyboard.

"Well, I'll show you," he smiled, angling the laptop so there was no glare on the screen. "All we do is type the name of the ship into this program and it will give us basic background information like size, design, where it's normally docked, and who the owner is will ."

"And we use that information to decide the probability of Adam being on board?"

"I know it's not much," he said softly, when she frowned.

Though their voices were quiet, the tone of his voice was unmistakable. It was the tone he used when he was semi-confident, when he had **_almost_** every problem to a situation worked out in his mind. It was the tone he used when he wanted to discuss his options aloud, to covertly feed off those around him, in order to make his final decisions. But, as much as his indecisiveness annoyed her, Miss Parker realized that it had been over a year since she'd heard him sound **_this_** sure of himself. Little by little, the old Jarod was returning and, for that, she was grateful.

"Okay," Emily sighed, picking up the piece of paper Jarod had used to scribble the names of the ships. "Let's get started. The ships are 'Star Seeker', 'Retribution' and the 'Payoff'. Which do you want to start with?"

"Retribution," Parker repeated to herself. Then, in a much firmer and louder voice, she said, "He's on Retribution."

Emily glanced at the woman, then at her brother, but Jarod never raised his eyes from the computer. He tapped the ship's name into the program and, when the screen filled, he said, "The only thing that's recorded for Retribution is a bill of sale from six months ago. Its original name was 'Floating Debt'. The Seller was the CEO of a pharmaceutical company based in Los Angeles. The Buyer was a corporation named . . ."

Suddenly, Jarod was quiet and his body stiffened. Before either of the women could question him, though, he found his darkest voice and said, "The Buyer was a corporation named Arkham Industries."

Slowly, Jarod shifted his eyes from the computer to Miss Parker. The woman, for the first time since leaving the dock, met the Pretender's gaze with a dark one of her own.

"You don't think he'd be that obvious, do you?" Miss Parker asked.

"Only if he thought he wouldn't get caught," he replied. "Think about it. Other than you and me, there isn't anyone involved in this who could have made the connection."

"What connection? Will someone please tell me who, or what, Arkham Industries is?" Emily asked.

Jarod and his huntress stared at each other in silence until Emily repeated her question. Finally, Jarod looked at his sister and said, "Lyle is Arkham Industries."

When she was silent, he signed and continued, "Arkham is the name that appears on Lyle's original birth records."

"Not to mention that last year, I found a file named 'Retribution' in Lyle's office," Miss Parker added.

"What was in it?"

"Except for a picture of me with my mother, the folder was empty. The rest of the file was with Claire," she told Emily. "Lyle gave it to her for safekeeping and she mixed it in with the things she claimed belonged to your mother."

Emily looked at her brother a long moment, remembering the situation as her father had explained to her months before. In an effort to gain their confidence, Claire had offered up some items she claimed belonged to Margaret. She told the Major where they were being kept however, moments later, Broots produced a box he, Sydney and Miss Parker had found in a storage locker rented to Claire."

"The box," she said softly. "It had photos of people Lyle marked for death."

"It had photos Lyle marked for death at Jarod's hand," Miss Parker corrected.

"Lyle's attempt to brainwash me, to train me to become his personal assassin, was known as Project Retribution."

Though there was no question, Miss Parker met Jarod's eyes briefly and nodded.

"Well, then," Emily sighed, "I guess that settles it. The first ship we search is Retribution."

* * *

"It's me," he said, when the call was answered. "Where are you?" 

"I am pulling into the parking lot now."

"Good. There are two men on board," he warned, guiding the car onto the highway. "The larger one, Ian, is dedicated to Claire; the other's name is Cal. His loyalty is questionable. Do not trust either of them. I expect you to take control. Is that clear?"

Willie nodded, though he knew the other man could not see him. "I can handle the situation, Sir."

"I rented a boat for you," Lyle continued. "It's the red one. The keys are inside."

"I see it," the sweeper replied, staring at the pier.

"Do you understand your orders?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Call me if there are any problems."

"Yes, Sir, but I don't expect any," the man replied, starting toward the boat. "I've handled the boy before. You could say that he and I have an understanding."

* * *

Cool air slipped under the mask and its effect was calming. Taking a deep breath, Adam tried to concentrate on the movement of the wheelchair and the breeze that continued to caress his skin. The sound of the waves against the ship and the smell of the ocean made his heart quicken but he found that he was able to control his fear. It was when the chair came to a stop that his heart began pounding wildly again. 

"Relax," Ian murmured. "I've got it under control."

Feeling Ian's hand on his shoulder, Adam let himself be pulled back in the chair but said nothing.

"What's he doing out?"

Adam stiffened at the sound of the other sweeper and, immediately, Ian added pressure to his shoulder.

"Miss James' orders," he replied. "She said the boy was cooped up too much and said to take him outside for a little while, after it got dark."

"With the mask on?" the man dared.

"I'm just following orders. What are you doing out here?"

"Same as you, I'm following orders," the man replied. "I was on my way to give him something to help him sleep. I guess I can do it here."

"Don't touch him," Ian growled, when Cal placed his hand on Adam's arm. "What the hell are you trying to do? Kill him with an overdose? The injection you and Lyle gave him earlier is still in his system."

Adam wasn't aware that Ian had moved until the wheelchair began to roll backward. Startled, his breath caught in his throat and stayed there, even after the chair hit the railing and came to an abrupt stop.

"Hey, this isn't my call. When Lyle was leaving, he told me to drug the kid again."

"Since when do you take orders from Lyle? The last time I checked, we were both working for Miss James."

"My paycheck comes from the Centre," Cal shot back. "And since Mr. Lyle is the Chairman's son, I would rather not piss him off, if that's all right with you."

"Actually, it's not."

They said nothing for what seemed like hours but, in actuality, could not have been more than a few seconds. During that time, the only sounds Adam heard were the crashing of the waves against the hull of the ship. Salt water sprayed his arms and the back of his neck and, despite he knew it was illogical, Adam interpreted the sprinkling of water as a taunt, a threat to pull him under.

"Leave me alone," he whispered, unaware that both men heard his soft plea.

Ian looked back at Cal and hissed, "See what you've done to him? See what Lyle has done by keeping him drugged? You're not getting near him."

Closing his eyes, Adam felt the rhythm of the ship more vividly than he had before, and the sound of the surf splashing on to the deck seemed louder. Snapping them open, though they were still blinded by the hood, he took several deep breaths. The longer he had no distractions, the more anxious he became.

"Have it your way," Cal snapped, "but, mark my words, when Willie gets here, that kid is going to be on the business end of a needle very quickly. You will have absolutely nothing to say about it."

"I'll worry about Willie, when he gets here. Right now, you're the only problem I have, Cal, and I'm pretty sure I can take care of you."

Adam swallowed hard, not liking the way the conversation was going. When Ian was suddenly quiet, he raised his head and tilted it toward the nearing sound of a motor. A boat was approaching.

"There he is," Cal boasted, in a now-you're- gonna-get-it tone. "Now, get out of the way so I can put the kid to sleep."

"Back off."

There was a scuffle and, above the hum of the boat, Adam heard someone stumble.

"What is with you?" Cal demanded. "You're and I are the same. I'm just following orders."

"You and I are not the same," he insisted angrily. "And you are not drugging him, again."

"Like hell, I'm not. Get out of my way."

Something hit the wall beside him and there was a loud groan. An instant later, the soft, unmistakable sound of a silenced gun was followed by a splash. Adam's heart was now pounding furiously and every muscle in his body constricted as the chair began to move forward and a rapid speed. He wanted to say something, to ask where they were going, to ask what had happened but the words wouldn't come.

* * *

The stretch of beach he had chosen was deserted most times of the day. Littered with sharp stones, the sand offered little for the sun worshipers, while jagged rocks and a heavy rip tide discouraged the intelligent swimmer. The only advantage this parcel of land had was that it offered a clear view of Jarod's beach house so, to Lyle, the secluded property was valuable beyond compare. 

Pulling his car alongside the only other vehicle in the lot, Lyle exited his Porsche and moved toward the back of the sedan. Glancing around the area, to be sure he was alone, he opened the trunk of the larger car and reached inside. Pulling back the heavy wool blanket, he smiled at the woman it hid.

Barely conscious, she did not react when his hand slid across her bruised face and removed the dark cloth bag that served as a hood. He stared at her, letting his hand slide through the tangle of red hair, down her neck and under the gray sweatshirt jacket she still wore. Sliding the garment off her shoulder, he slowly released a heavy breath of relief. Though her face, chest and back held numerous purple and yellow marks, there was no bruising or injury around the rose tattoo.

He pulled the jacket back in place and retrieved a digital camera from the bag stowed near her feet. Her swollen eyes fluttered as the flash went off . He waited, watching her struggle to lift the heavy lids until it appeared she was finally succeeding. Pressing his hand over the gag that prevented her cry from traveling out of the car, he leaned forward and pulled the dark hood over her face. Though she instinctively struggled, it did not take long before she let out a soft whimper of defeat, and became still.

Smiling at her reaction, he pulled his hand away, allowing it to slide slowly down the front of her body before turning her from her side to her belly. Though she let out a small moan, with her hands bound behind her, and a thick rope connecting them to leather straps around her ankles, the woman could not resist the movement. He checked the restraints, tightening the ropes around her wrist until she flinched.

"It's a shame that, if all goes as planned, you and I won't be spending your last moments together, Jillian," he whispered, running both his hands down her bruised back. "I could have made it very enjoyable for you, in my own way."

As he spoke, Lyle slid one hand beneath the woman and slipped the gag from her mouth. He heard her gasp, desperate to fill her lungs, but waited patiently to see if she would attempt any other sound. When Jillian was quiet, and her body tensed, he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Unfortunately, it is time for my apprentice to do a job on his own. You will be his first but, don't worry, he's a quick study."

Then, without warning, Lyle flipped his captive to her back. When she bit her own lip to suppress a cry of pain, he smiled and murmured that she was a good girl.

Slowly, he brought the blanket to her neck and lifted the hood only far enough to see the chapped, cracked lines of her mouth. While his gloved hand gently traced the lines of her jaw, his right slid a bottle of water from the bag at her feet. Her chest rose and fell quickly but, still, the woman struggled to be silent.

He removed the plastic cap from the bottle then slipped the plastic nipple into her mouth. Instinctively, she groaned and turned her head away. Lyle laughed at her and squirted the warm water under the hood. Immediately, she stiffened. He turned the bottle upside down, allowing a slow drip onto her chin, her neck and chest as he softly reminded her that he was in control. For a moment, she held her breath then, in a pained voice, whispered she was sorry.

"That's it," he cooed, sliding his free hand under her neck for support. Accepting his touch, the woman brought her head up, her lips searching for the bottle she had refused moments before. "See what happens when you cooperate?"

He allowed her to suckle while his fingers kneaded the skin at the back of her neck. When the bottle was half empty, he pulled it away and roughly brought his mouth to hers. Her reactions were slow. By the time her body tensed, Lyle had pulled away and forced the gag into her mouth.

* * *

"Change of plans. I need you to trust me, Kid." 

Relieved by the sound of Ian's voice, Adam nodded mutely from under the hood.

"I'm doing this for your own good," he said, pulling the chair to a stop.

The hood rose, just far enough to expose Adam's mouth and a wad of cloth, wrapped around something thick, was forced between his lips. For the first time, the young man began to struggle but because of his fatigue, Ian easily tied the gag in place. Then, murmuring another plea for trust, the sweeper pulled the chair backward.

In his current state, the sudden whirr of the generator and clanging of the pumps housed in the equipment room were unbearable for Adam. Instinctively, he tried to bring his hands to his ears but, when the limbs wouldn't move beyond his waist, dropped his head to his knees. After a few excruciating moments, he felt Ian's hand slide inside the hood and, though Adam tried to pull away, the sweeper managed to block each ear with a piece of cloth. Though he could still hear the banging and clicking of the machines around him, suddenly, the noise was not quite as painful.

"I'm sorry. I know this is difficult for you," he panted, watching his captive lean heavily against his restraints. "But, I promise, you're safer this way. I'll explain it all to you later."

With that, he closed the door to the small utility room, leaving the terrified young man alone and completely helpless.

Sliding his hands under her body, he murmured that she deserved a reward and lifted the woman from the trunk. Laying her on the course sand, he watched her body shift positions and was pleased to see how quickly she became still. He was enjoying his time with her much more than he had the others, much more than he had anticipated.

"The rocks make it uncomfortable, I know, but it has a lovely view," he said, crouching beside her. Then, clucking his tongue, he ran his hand under the hood and added, "I guess you'll have to trust me on that point, though, won't you?"

She turned her head away as his hand caressed her cheek and slowly followed the line of her jaw.

"I know what a nature lover you are, Jillian, so I took great care in choosing this spot for you. What do you think? Is it an acceptable place for you to spend the last few minutes of your life?"

The woman squirmed in the sand, letting out a brief but guttural cry as his hand briefly tightened around her neck

"Sssshhh," he whispered. "It's nice to see you still have some fight left but, I'm not the one who is going to hurt you, remember? I shouldn't tell you this, and ruin the surprise, but you still have almost a full day before you meet your end."

She writhed under his touch, the sand and stones embedding themselves in her hair, her skin and in the ropes that restrained her. He rose and moved back to the vehicles, leaning against the one he had driven in as he watched the woman exert herself. A few minutes later, when she finally quieted, he returned to her side.

"As much as I'm enjoying this, I'm afraid our little field trip is over," he sighed. Ignoring her moan of pained protest, he lifted the woman from the ground and brought her back to the car. "Having sand in your clothes is probably the most uncomfortable feeling in the world, isn't it? Don't worry. This will all be over very soon."

After gently lowering the woman onto the blanket spread out in the trunk, Lyle ran his hand down her arms and pulled on the ropes around her wrists. The sand spilled into the open wounds and the restraints held it in place, and she arched her back and bit her lip to keep the scream silent. As a reward, Lyle slid the water bottle between her lips. When she drank her fill, he pressed his mouth against hers then stepped back and brought the blanket to her shoulders.

"Now, I am have to leave, Jillian. I need you to behave yourself while I'm gone," he said, fingering the locks of red hair that peeked out the bottom of the mask. Retrieving a capped syringe from his pocket, he ran his hand softly along her neck until she stopped squirming then easily slid the needle into her body.

"It's all right," he whispered, when she cried out. "Don't be frightened. I just gave you something to help you conserve your energy. In a few moments you're going to fall into a nice, deep sleep."

As if on cue, the woman's breathing became deep and even. "See? That's right, I don't want you to fight it," he murmured in a soft, hypnotic voice. While his hand continued to caress her neck and shoulder, her struggles weakened and her muscles relaxed. "I want you to be a good girl, while I'm gone, and let the drugs work their magic. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours."

Then, without another word, Lyle covered the woman completely with the blanket and slammed the trunk closed.

* * *

"He's not here." 

"What do you mean, he's not here? Where is he?"

Ian shrugged. "Maybe you should ask Lyle."

"I just spoke with **_Mr_**. Lyle," Willie growled, grabbing the man by the collar. "Now, tell me where the boy is."

"Better yet, why don't you tell me?"

With Ian pressed against the wall, Willie glanced over his shoulder as the new arrival took a stance by the railing.

"Jarod."

"Hello, Willie. Long time no see."

"I thought you were dead," he ground out.

"You thought wrong," the Pretender grinned, raising his gun as Miss Parker and Emily climbed onto the ship behind him. Glancing at the women, he said, "Find Adam. I'll take care of these two."

Though Emily did not question the directive, Miss Parker hesitated. Shooting a quick look at Willie, and the stony expression he held, she looked back at Jarod. "Are you sure?"

"Go with Emily!" he bellowed.

His deep voice did not startle or frighten her, but a second later, Miss Parker nodded and took off after Emily. It bothered her to leave him to face Willie and another sweeper, but having Emily searching the ship alone bothered her more. There was no telling what condition Adam might be in, or how many other sweepers were on board. Despite the fact the younger woman was probably the best choice to care for Adam, Miss Parker doubted Jarod's sister was equipped to handle a confrontation with a Centre trained operative. That was **_her_** job.

She found the younger woman in one of the cabins. Raising her gun as Miss Parker entered, Emily let out a soft breath and lowered it immediately upon recognizing the woman.

"It looks like he was here, but he's gone," she said, pointing to the disheveled bed and empty syringe as she moved around Miss Parker. Her voice went from thick to raspy in less than a second as she added, "And he's terrified. We have to find him."

"Hold it," Parker hissed, grabbing the woman's arm.

Emily stared at her incredulously then glanced around the room. "Why? Did you find something?"

"No," she admitted, loosening her grip, "but . . ."

"Then let go of me," she demanded. "Adam is on this ship somewhere and he's scared to death. If we don't find him soon, we will lose him. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Miss Parker?"

Startled by the outburst, Miss Parker loosened her grip. "You can feel him? You're using his emotions to track him?"

Nodding her head, Emily averted her eyes. After her role as Jarod's protector, the year before, her older brother had insisted she control her empathic abilities. He'd been so worried about the damage his emotions may have done to her, and so insistent in his plea, that Emily had agreed.

During the year, she tested her ability numerous times by doing everything from walking through crowds to insinuating herself into volatile situations to volunteering at a local psychiatric hospital. Though she could never, completely, shut out those around her, until today, she had been successful in muting their affect on her. Today, however, she let herself feel everything around her. She had no intention of muffling Adam's fears. His life depended on her ability to feel his emotional pain.

"All right. Just calm down," Parker insisted. "We have to start thinking logically. We have to be careful. There may be more guards on board. You can't just go from room to room, without . . ."

"I was careful," she spat, pulling out of the woman's hold. "I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so," Parker muttered as Emily disappeared from the room.

* * *

For a few minutes longer, he tugged at the restraints, knowing they would not break. His tongue pushed at the gag, knowing he had no chance of dislodging it. He shook his head, trying to relieve himself of the hood, knowing it would not fall off. And, with each act, Adam became more desperate, his body grew more weary and his thoughts became more muddled. 

The drugs he'd been fed, the physical abuse he'd endured and the emotional turmoil that seemed to be continual, had been taking their toll for days. Whether he realized it or not, when Ian took away the senses he relied upon so heavily, he caused something inside of Adam to snap. He was now sure that his time, and any hope he'd had, had run out. If Willie was on board the ship, it meant he was now Lyle's property. His to do with as he saw fit.

Leaning back in the chair, Adam tapped his head anxiously against the thin metal wall of the furnace behind him. With each strike, the wall seemed to shift, to give in. Telling himself he deserved the abuse, he hit it again, and again, each time rocking his head against the object quicker and harder. Soon, the mindless act of frustration became one of comfort. If he stopped, he would start thinking again. If he started thinking, he would become frustrated because he could not fathom an escape. He didn't want to think.

Suddenly, the chair moved forward and then a breeze of sea air swirled around him. The cacophony of equipment abruptly disappeared but Adam's ears were still ringing with the noise. He froze, straining to separate the echoes from the new sounds around him. Someone grabbed his left arm and he flinched. The hold loosened slightly and began sliding the length of his arm as another hand pulled at the strings holding the hood in place.

The ocean sprayed his feet with cold salt water and he told himself not to panic. Another hand fell against his right arm and, though he tensed, he bit down on the gag but did not try to pull away. When yet another hand pushed at the leather strap around his waist, while the first continued to tug at the hood, however, the contact was too much. He jerked his head to the left, hitting it on the edge of the chair, in an attempt to resist whatever was happening. The chair rocked slightly and the vibrations in his throat confirmed he had made a noise of protest.

Then, as quickly as they'd appeared, the hands slid away.

It wasn't until Adam's deep moan that Emily understood what was happening. Immediately, she dropped her hands from his body and told Miss Parker to do the same.

"I don't think he knows who we are," she murmured, staring at the bound young man. "He's on overload and we're frightening him even more."

"So, what do we do?"

Taking a deep breath, she knelt in front of her brother and looked up at the woman. "We move slowly."

His breaths were still coming in rapid succession but, when he was no longer being touched, Adam began to relax. Soon, he felt something brush against his left hand. Soft and hesitant, it was nothing like the urgent tugging and squeezing he had felt moments before. Whatever it was brushed against his hand a second time then folded itself over his fingers. There was something familiar about the touch, he thought, but refused to consider the source. Claire liked to touch him, to stroke his arm and finger his hair. He did not want to believe he could be comforted by Claire.

When Adam's breaths began to regulate, Emily looked up at Miss Parker and told her to find Jarod. "I can handle it from here."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and looked back and Adam. With her right hand still covering his left, she brought her free hand to his shoulder. Though he tensed, he did not try to pull away and Emily smiled. "I'm positive."

* * *

"Let him go," Jarod ordered Willie. 

The sweeper gave Ian a warning look then slowly released his hold on the man.

"Good. Now, both of you slide your guns over here."

Willie laughed. "Now, why would either of us give our weapons to you? There are two of us, Jarod, and only one of you. I know it's difficult math, but someone with your IQ should be able to understand what that means."

The Pretender stared at the dark man for a long time, then shifted his eyes to Ian. "I realize you are, or were, trying to protect my brother from Willie when I interrupted you. For that, whatever your reasons, I am grateful. However, you need to know that I am an excellent shot and very capable of bringing you both down before you have a chance to even touch your gun."

Ian glared at Jarod, suddenly unsure. A few moments before, he'd known exactly what he was going to do. The boy was, for now, safe. Bound and gagged, unable to hear or see, he would be unaware of what was happening around him. He was incapable of calling out, whether it was out of fear or desperation, and Ian had hoped that fact would be enough to keep Willie from finding him too quickly. As long as Willie was unaware of where the boy was being hidden, there was always a chance that Ian could sneak him off the ship.

With the Pretender and Miss Parker on the scene, Ian knew his plan would never work. Now his choices were limited to either helping Willie overcome them and, subsequently, resigning Adam to Lyle's control, or betraying Miss James and helping the boy return to his family.

"He's bluffing," Willie announced. "The ability to kill is not in the long list of his abilities."

_He felt the life drain from her body. With his hands around her neck, he felt her pulse slow and then stop completely. Though her eyes remained open, staring at him in fear, the body beneath him suddenly went lax. _

Shaking away the image, Jarod tightened his hold on the gun and managed, "I don't need to kill you, to get what I want."

The two sweepers smiled at each other, though Ian's grin was less compelling.

"Of course you do, Jarod, and you know it," Willie taunted. "The art of intentionally taking a life is the one thing Sydney never taught you, isn't it?"

"Then, I'll do it for him," Miss Parker said, stepping beside Jarod. "You know **I **have the ability to kill, Willie, don't you?"

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thanks for all the great feedback. I just realized that "Day 3" has been going on for something like7 chapters - no wonder the charactes are so tired.I guess Istill haven't gotten the hang of editing... ;-P Anyway, I hope you enjoy this part

Disclaimer in part 1

**Survival II - Retribution  
**by imagine

Part 11?

"After everything you and Lyle have done to my family, Willie, if I were you I would drop the gun."

The sweeper tilted his head to one side and grinned maliciously at the Pretender. "But you're not me. Are you, Jarod?"

"Dammit, do as he says or . . ."

"Parker, stay out of this," Jarod growled.

He took one step forward, positioning himself slightly ahead of Miss Parker, and tightened his grip on the firearm. When she moved two steps to the left, he did the same, purposely keeping his body between her and the other man. Without turning to face her, he motioned toward Ian, "You take care of that one and let me handle Willie."

As soon as the words were spoken, Miss Parker's insides clenched. She stepped away and, while her gun was still trained on Ian, her eyes were fixated on Jarod. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were tight, his jaw was set and his dark eyes held Willie's gaze as firmly as his hands held his automatic. If it hadn't been for the tremor she'd heard in his voice, and the nervous swallow that followed, she might have believed Jarod was in total control.

"I am not telling you again. Drop the gun, Willie. Better yet, toss it over the side of the ship."

Willie laughed humorlessly and shook his head as Jarod took another step forward. "If you want my gun, you're going to have to come and get it. Because, if you don't, I'll use it on that freak of nature you call a brother." Stealing a look at the brunette, he added, "Or someone else you care about."

Before Miss Parker could register what was happening, Jarod lunged forward. He grabbed Willie by the collar of his shirt and, still holding the automatic in his right hand, shoved the man into the wall.

"See, that's where you're wrong," the Pretender replied, coldly. "You will never hurt anyone I care about, ever again."

The ensuing struggle was quick and violent. In the time it took Miss Parker to cuff Ian to a nearby post, Jarod had Willie pinned to the deck. With one hand wrapped tightly around the black man's throat, and the other still gripping his firearm, the Pretender struck his victim repeatedly across the face.

"Jarod! Jarod, you're going to kill him," she hissed. Grabbing the muscular arm in midair, she pulled it back, lost her grip and recaptured it a split second before Willie was hit again.

Blood trickled from his lip as Jarod faced the woman, "What are you doing? Let go of me. He . . ."

"He's down for the count!" she yelled. "Look at him."

Immediately, he did as she commanded. His eyes traveled the bloody face of the unconscious sweeper and, almost instantly, Jarod dropped his gun. The hollow thud the weapon made as it hit the deck, however, was not enough to draw his attention away from his hands. Even the dim glow of the light behind him couldn't mask the fear and surprise that crossed his face as he stared at the crimson streaks that decorated his fingers and palm.

She reached out, hoping to bring his focus on her, but Jarod let out a soft moan, quickly wiped his hands on his dark jeans and scurried to his feet. Backing away, he glanced at Miss Parker then grabbed the nearby railing and pivoted away, bringing his back to her. His shoulders and neck rippled with tension but when he arched his back and lowered his head, she stepped behind him.

"Jarod?"

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but Jarod squirmed away from the touch. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he murmured, "Give me a minute."

Slowly, the Pretender took a deep breath and rose to his full height. When he faced her, she could see he had paled but before she could ask if he was all right, Jarod stepped around her. Grabbing Willie's arms, he dragged the body into a nearby cabin.

Without taking her eyes off of him, Miss Parker retrieved Jarod's gun from the floor and slipped it into her jacket pocket. When he was no longer visible, she crossed to where Ian was tugging on his restraints. Warning the man against doing something stupid, she freed him from the post.

"Is he always like that?" the man whispered, motioning to where Jarod had disappeared.

"Only toward those who hurt his family," she replied. Pulling the man's arms behind his back, she tightly reinstated the cuffs and, pushed him forward. "I guess that means you're next."

Ian stumbled over the threshold of the cabin, as Jarod appeared in the doorway. Finding himself in the Pretender's arms, he looked up into the dark, tortured eyes and, held his breath.

"Where is he?" Jarod asked. Holding the man by his shirt collar, he lowered his voice and demanded, "What have you done with my brother?"

"Jarod, relax," Miss Parker said, from the door. "Adam is with Emily."

The moment the words were spoken, the muscles in the Pretender's shoulders went lax. Facing Miss Parker, he tossed Ian to the side, ignoring the Sweeper's cry of pain as he struck the chest of drawers.

"He's all right?" Jarod asked, crossing to the woman's side.

She nodded. "I think so."

"You think so? Didn't you see him?"

She glanced over Jarod's shoulder, to where Ian was huddled on the floor. "I saw him."

"Then, why can't you tell me if he's all right?"

Slowly bringing her eyes back to his, she replied, "He's been through a lot."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, Genius, it means that, right now, we need to concentrate on getting him off this ship," she snapped. "Adam is a strong kid but he is still a kid. He needs to be home. He needs to be safe."

In response, Jarod straightened his stance, every muscle in his body seemingly tensing at once.

"He'll be all right," she promised, softening her tone. Pulling his gun from her pocket, she held it out to him. "But the sooner we get him home, the better."

Carefully tucking the automatic into the waistband of his jeans, Jarod nodded and turned to face their captives. Without a word between them, he and Miss Parker secured both sweepers to the exposed pipes in the bathroom. When Willie regained consciousness and weakly repeated the threat he'd made against Adam, Miss Parker watched as the Pretender gagged both men with strips of a ripped towel.

"If I were you," he warned, "I would concentrate on not losing my lunch right now."

As they moved from the room, Jarod closed the door and simultaneously slid his cell phone from his jacket pocket. After a quick glance at the display, he dropped the device back into the pocket.

"Take me to Adam," he said, ignoring her curious gaze.

With a quick nod, Miss Parker took the man by the hand and led him from the room. Pointing to her right, she told Jarod his siblings were just beyond the curve of the hall.

"Adam was locked in the equipment room," she said quietly, gazing down the corridor. "He was blindfolded, gagged and tied in a wheelchair."

Her voice caught in her throat for a moment as Jarod's hand tightened around hers. Looking up at him, she swallowed hard and continued, "Because of the noise in the room, he couldn't hear us calling out to him, so he panicked at first. But, Emily calmed him down before I left to find you."

"You're sure?"

"Adam is going to be all right, Jarod. We all just have to remember to take it slow with him for a little while."

"Is that what you did, with me, last year?" he asked softly. "Remind yourself to take it slow?"

Slipping her hand from his grasp, she shook her head. "I didn't go as slow as I should have."

The silence that followed was brief but, combined with the weight of his stare, seemed an eternity. It wasn't until she turned away that she found a voice strong enough to say, "Go take care of Adam. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Wait. Where are you going?" he asked, as she began to move away. "The Coast Guard is scheduled to make another pass through this area in about twenty-five minutes. We have to be off this ship in twenty."

"I'll be back in five," she promised. "I'm just going to move the boat closer. There is a section of railing, not far from where Adam is, that is removable. I'll tie the boat beneath it so Adam doesn't have to exert himself coming all the way down here."

"Thank you," he whispered, but Miss Parker had already turned away and his voice was lost in the sounds of the ocean.

* * *

When Miss Parker finished securing the smaller boat to the ship and climbed to the deck, she found the Pretender crouched beside his sister and brother. Sitting at the foot of the wheelchair, with his legs curled beneath him, Adam's face was buried in his Emily's shoulder. His arms circled her and disappeared under the back of her jacket but the dimensions of his fisted hands were visible beneath the fabric.

Jarod hesitated a moment, watching Emily comfort the younger man before gently laying his hand on Adam's back. When the touch did not elicit a reaction, he rolled to his knees and slid his hand to the boy's far shoulder.

"It's all right," Jarod whispered. Glancing at his sister, he leaned forward, softly pressed his lips against Adam's temple and added, "You're safe."

The boy stirred but did not look up. His voice was strained and muffled but, when Jarod responded with another whispered word of reassurance, Adam slowly raised his head.

Jarod forced a soft smile and silently took in his brother's condition. Scratches and bruises were visible under his light beard and, judging by the awkward way the young man had positioned himself against Emily, it was obvious that the boy was in pain. Suppressing the urge to question what had been done to him, Jarod heeded Miss Parker's earlier warning and remained still, waiting for Adam to speak.

"J-Jarod?"

The Pretender nodded as he began to softly stroke the boy's back. "I'm right here."

Tears suddenly welled in the boy's eyes. "I - I didn't tell them."

Startled by the urgency in Adam's voice, Jarod looked at Emily for an explanation only to be met with an equally confused gaze. Bringing his attention back on his brother, he saw the younger man had lowered his eyes and, though he still leaned heavily against Emily, had brought his knees to his chest.

"I promise, I didn't tell them," the boy repeated. Though his voice was louder than it had been, it was raspy and punctuated with heavy breaths. "He already knew. Y-you h-have to believe me."

"Adam, calm down," he urged, softly stroking the boy's arm. "Take a deep breath and . . ."

"L-lyle knew," he continued, glancing anxiously at Jarod. "I didn't tell him about y-you, I swear. I tried to tell him he was w-wrong but he knew I was l-lying."

Sadness filled Jarod's eyes as he began to understand what Adam was telling him. He opened his mouth to reassure the young man, but his voice caught in his throat.

"Don't leave me here," Adam pleaded as he desperately searched Jarod's face. "Please."

"Adam, we're not going to leave you here," Emily murmured. "We're here to bring you home."

"I'll go anywhere you want," the boy promised, seemingly oblivious to his sister's presence. With his eyes still trained on Jarod, his already weak voice began to deteriorate under the strain of his fatigue and pain. "I'll stay away. I'll never bother you. Just, p-please, don't leave me here."

Becoming more and more frightened by the young man's emotional appeals, Jarod insinuated himself between Emily and Adam, effectively breaking the physical contact between the two. When he felt his sister move away, Jarod gently cupped the boy's face in his hands.

"I would never leave you, Adam," he insisted softly. "**_We_** would never leave you."

Under Jarod's watchful gaze, Adam dropped his eyes. "I d-don't want to stay here. I don't w-want to go back to the C-Centre."

"We're going to take you home, Adam. You're not going to the Centre, or anywhere else. I promise that you're safe."

The boat tipped to the left and a sudden wave splashed onto the deck. Immediately, Adam's head shot up, his eyes widening as they turned toward the edge of the ship. Simultaneously, Jarod realized his brother was trembling. Though he was sure it was not due to the chill in the air, the Pretender removed his leather jacket and draped it carefully around Adam's shoulders. Then, gently folding his arms around the young man, Jarod brought Adam to his chest.

"You're safe," he repeated in a raspy whisper. "I will not let anyone hurt you again."

* * *

Emily quietly crossed to Miss Parker's side then turned to watch her brothers. Reminding herself that Jarod had been trying to protect her when he pushed her away, she sighed and hugged herself. He thought the emotions that were overwhelming him and Adam would harm her. Regardless of the numerous times she'd told him that her abilities were under control, Jarod still felt the need to intercede.

"He doesn't know how we found Adam, does he?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "There was no reason to tell him."

"Thank you," she sighed. "If Jarod knew I'd opened myself up and intentionally allowed myself to feel Adam's emotions, he'd be angry."

"Not angry," the brunette responded. "Conflicted, yes. Angry, no."

"Conflicted?"

"You found Adam faster than anyone else could have dreamed of doing. He'd be worried for your well-being but, at the same time, relieved for Adam's sake," she sighed.

Emily faced the woman, though Miss Parker refused to do the same. "You sound sure."

"You forget that it was my job to know more about Jarod than anyone."

"The reason you know more about my brother, than anyone, Miss Parker, isn't because he was your job," she sighed. "Why won't you admit it?"

Turning her eyes on the younger woman, Miss Parker replied in a firm tone, "Jarod has been a lot of different things to me over the years, Emily."

Before Emily could respond, Miss Parker moved toward the men as they began to rise from the deck.

"M-Miss Parker?"

Adam's voice was barely a whisper and, despite his attempt to hide it, she saw the glint of fear that flashed in his eyes. Though it was gone so quickly she could have convinced herself she had imagined it, Parker knew better. Taking a step toward him, she slid her hand beneath his chin and smiled softly. "Don't sound so shocked. I know it's been awhile but I'm one of the good guys, remember?"

Embarrassed, Adam nodded and dropped his eyes. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

"Hey, it's okay. I know what you meant," she interrupted. Her smile faded and, gently, she wiped a stray tear from his face. Waiting until he looked at her, she added, "You never need to apologize to me. Is that clear?"

His eyes darted from Miss Parker to Jarod and, even from where she stood, Emily saw Adam's apprehension as he nodded. Suddenly, the almost six-foot young man seemed like a frightened seven-year-old. In three strides, she was standing beside him.

The adrenalin that had kept him alert to this point was beginning to fade and, with it, Adam's will to question those around him. He nodded when Jarod offered him reassurance, but did not raise his eyes to his brother, nor could he find the energy to resist when he was slowly guided to a bench at the edge of the ship. Leaning heavily into his sister, he sat down.

"I think it's time we went home," Emily said.

"I agree. Adam, I want you to put this on," Jarod said, holding out a life jacket.

When his eyes fell on the orange vest and a splash of cold water pinched his feet, Adam shifted in his seat. He looked down at the ocean churning against the hull and, with his breaths becoming more and more shallow, turned his attention on Jarod.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"No, of course not," Jarod replied softly. Placing his hand on his brother's shoulder he added, "None of this was your fault, Adam. I promise."

"D-don't make me do this," he whispered. "Not again."

Jarod's brows furrowed but he said nothing.

"Adam, calm down," Emily murmured, moving closer. "We're just trying to take you home, to keep you safe. This is the only way."

"No." He looked down at the water and shook his head. "I can't do it. I'll drown."

Though his voice never rose above a whisper, both Emily and Jarod heard the young man's words. Their eyes met for an instant and then, without hesitation, Jarod took Adam's hands in his while Emily slid her arms around the boy's shoulders.

"You won't drown," Jarod promised. "I won't let you."

"The jacket is just a precaution," Emily added. "We won't let anything happen to you."

"All you have to do is climb down the ladder. A few feet, that's all. I'll be there for every step."

"Trust us," Emily begged. "Please."

Adam looked at the two, then at the hole in the railing, where Miss Parker was standing. The brunette smiled and nodded reassuringly before he hesitantly lifted the vest from the bench.

Neither Lyle nor Claire had ever offered him a life jacket, he silently reasoned. "You won't let me fall?"

The question was not directed at anyone in particular but he saw each adult shake their head and heard three separate promises that he was safe. Licking his lips, Adam took a deep breath and slowly slid into the jacket.

Between his fears of falling into the ocean and his weakened physical condition, the descent was anything but easy on the young man. But, as promised, Jarod stood behind him on the ladder. With one arm around Adam's waist and the other on the rung of the rope ladder, the Pretender guided his brother from the ship. And, when they were both finally on the deck of the smaller boat, the young man's legs crumbled beneath him.

"Let me take you downstairs," Jarod said, dropping to his knees. "It's warmer and more comfortable."

"Not yet," he managed. Looking up, with his brother's arms around him, Adam watched as the women quickly maneuvered the rope ladder. When they were by his side, he released a heavy sigh and faced his brother. "We can go now."

Jarod smiled and moved to the front of the boat. "Anything you want, Little Brother."

* * *

"Have you reached him?"

"No. He isn't answering his cell phone."

Lyle reached over and lowered the volume on the car radio. "What do you mean, he isn't answering? I thought you said he was easily accessible."

"Jarod is trained not to answer calls from my number unless he's alone. He will call me as soon as it's safe for him to talk."

Lyle was quiet a moment, waiting for the man to continue. When the doctor was silent, he warned, "You had better not tell me you left a message."

"Please give me more credit than that," the man muttered. "There is no need for me to leave a message. One of the first things I programmed Jarod to do was to respond on command. When Jarod sees my private line number - the one only he knows - on his Caller ID, it will trigger the directive to call me within the hour."

Lyle's eyes narrowed as his grip tightened on the phone. "And if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"For your sake, you had better be right," he warned. Pulling the car into the parking lot, he glanced at his watch then looked at the ship in the distance and smiled to himself. Jarod could wait. He had other things to do. "Call me the moment Jarod has been given his instructions."

Disconnecting the call, he slid from the car and made his way to the small pier. A few minutes later, as he stared at the Retribution, he heard the sounds of an approaching vehicle. Turning, he dropped his hands and, instinctively, reached for his gun. When Claire appeared, he released the firearm but did not relax his stance.

"Have you been waiting long?" the woman asked.

Lyle shook his head. "Did things go as planned?"

Smiling brightly, the woman pulled two disks from her bag and held them out for him to see. "Better than planned, actually. They're so desperate to get the kid back, they're willing to do anything."

He looked at her, his face darkening at the words. "Such as?"

She shrugged and slid the disks back in her purse. "Let's just say I got to have a little fun."

"How?"

She sighed and walked to the edge of the pier. "I sent them on a wild goose chase, if you must know. Any moment, Margaret and Major Charles should be crossing the border."

"You told them the boy was in Mexico, and they believed you?"

"It doesn't matter if they believed me, or not," Claire replied, coming to a sudden stop. Her eyes locked on his, she added, "The only thing that matters is that they did as I instructed. By the time they return to California, the boy will be long gone."

"Yes, he will." When the woman smiled slightly and turned away, Lyle grabbed her forearm. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To the ship," she answered, pulling from his grasp. "With you."

"There is no reason for you to return to the ship. You have the disks and the boy is mine. Our business is complete."

"I never said it wasn't, Hon." Carefully lowering herself into the small boat tied to the pier, she looked up at him. "Stop scowling at me. I'm only going back to retrieve some of my belongings."

"I'll have them sent to you."

"Don't be ridiculous. Now get in the boat, or you're going to force me to go without you."

* * *

While Jarod and Emily got Adam settled on a cot in the lower part of the vessel, Miss Parker took responsibility for putting as much distance between them and the Retribution as possible.

"How's he doing?" she asked, when the Pretender appeared at her side.

Jarod sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "He's been better."

"Then maybe you should be with him."

"Emily is with him," he answered, reaching into his backpack. "She has a calming influence on him."

"On you, too, if I remember correctly."

Though he didn't comment, Jarod glanced at the woman before returning to his search of the bag.

"What are you looking for?"

"Adam's in a lot of pain," he said, not raising his eyes. "I thought I packed some ibuprofen. Ah. Here it is."

As he pulled the package from the bag, he suddenly dropped his eyes to his cell phone. She watched, curious, as he barely glanced at the displayed number before sliding the phone back into his pocket. Raising her eyebrows, she looked at him, then turned her attention back on the ocean. Despite the fact she wanted to ask him about the call, Miss Parker forced herself to remain silent. Questioning him now would only lead to an argument.

"I know it's not much but, it's all I have," he explained, pulling a bottle of water from the same bag. "Besides, we don't know what Lyle and Claire have given him so . . ."

"Did I say anything?"

"You didn't have to," he replied, dropping the bag as he stood. "It's been obvious, since this whole thing began, that you disapprove of my methods of dealing with things."

"Excuse me?" She stared at him, incredulously.

"Trust me, I've been trying," he snapped. Shaking his head, Jarod took a step toward the stairs before stopping and glaring at her again. "For the record, Parker, I care a great deal about Adam's welfare."

"I never said you didn't," she retorted, her eyes narrowing.

"But you disapprove of how I reacted while he was gone. You think I should have been more involved."

Folding her arms across her chest, her steely eyes met his in controlled anger. "I don't know that there was much you could have done but, frankly, yes, I think you should have been around more."

"Well, frankly, my dear . . ."

"Will you two stop?" Emily hissed. Stepping onto the deck, she glanced over her shoulder at Adam, then turned a much icy glare on Jarod and Miss Parker. In a low voice, she continued, "Now is not the time or the place for whatever the hell it is you think you're doing. In case you haven't noticed, we're here for Adam, not you, and the last thing he needs is to hear you two sniping at each other."

Shooting each other a quick look, the Pretender and his one-time huntress nodded, but said nothing.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves," she chastised. Then, satisfied with their silence, Emily snatched the water and pills from her brother's hands. Turning on her heel, she disappeared into the shallow hull of the boat, without another word.

* * *

"It's awfully quiet," she commented as they climbed onto the deck.

"Too quiet," he agreed.

They moved through the halls of the ship, alert and with their guns drawn. From time to time, Claire shot an inquisitive look at Lyle but said nothing until they came upon the discarded wheelchair. A rag and pieces of electrical tape were stuck to the seat of the chair and the belt that had held Adam's wrists at his waist was found in against the door to the equipment room.

"What the hell happened here?" she asked innocently, motioning toward the hole in the railing.

Lyle glared at her and quickened his pace as he headed down the hall. Defensively, he entered every room, finally coming to the one that held Willie and Ian. Holstering his weapon, the Chairman's son stood over the two sweepers with an accusing scowl before crouching next to Willie to undo the man's gag. Immediately, Claire followed suit, freeing Ian from his restraints.

"Where is the boy?" Lyle asked.

"Gone," Willie responded.

"Gone? What are you talking about?"

"Jarod showed up."

Lyle hesitated, silently cursing Philip Kelly then shook his head as he unlocked the cuffs that held Willie to the elbow pipe. "That's impossible."

"Jarod is dead," Claire stated, though her tone was far from confident. "He died in the fire."

"That's what I thought, but he was here," Willie answered, flexing his fists. Then, turning back to Lyle, he added, "Miss Parker was with him."

"This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" Lyle growled. Rising to his feet, he moved from the bathroom and began anxiously pacing the width of the cabin. Turning on Claire as she appeared in the room, he hissed, "How did he find us?"

"What?"

"How did Jarod find out about Retribution? How did he find Gemini?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I know what I've done in the past three days," he shot back, "but I have no idea what you've been doing."

"I've been babysitting the kid," Claire snapped.

"Considering he's gone, you've donea fne job, haven't you?"

"You know," she said, slowly, "if I didn't know better, I'd swear you are more upset about the fact that Jarod found the boy than you are that he is alive."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't underestimate me. Did you know Jarod was alive?"

"Did you do something stupid that helped him trace the boy here?"

Claire's eyes narrowed and motioning for Ian to follow, she started out of the cabin. At the door, she stopped suddenly and, without turning, ground out, "If I find out you have been lying to me, Lyle, you're going to regret it."

"Willie, follow her," he ordered, his eyes still trained on the door. "Make sure she gets off the ship."

"Yes, Sir."

Once the Sweeper was gone, Lyle pulled out his cell phone and dialed the doctor's number. When it connected, he did not wait for a greeting. Instead, using his most demanding tone, he asked, "Did you reach Jarod, yet?"

"Not yet. I told you I would call after I spoke with him."

"Find him."

"What's happened?"

"Find him," Lyle ground out. "And, when you do, I want you to tell him to go for his run at midnight."

"That's too early," the man protested. "I told you, the procedure needs twenty-four hours . . ."

"I don't give a damn about the procedure, Doctor. I am done playing games. At Midnight, Jarod will do as I tell him or he will never see the light of day again."

* * *

Miss Parker glanced at her watch and sighed as Jarod emerged from the hull. She glanced at him then turned away. It had been almost forty minutes since they'd spoken, not because they were angry with each other but because, immediately after their argument, Jarod had followed Emily down stairs.

"We need to talk," she said. "When this is all over, and Adam is safe, you and I need to talk."

Jarod shook his head and moved to the far side of the boat. Shaking his head, he answered sadly, "Adam is not going to feel safe for a very long time. Besides, you and I have nothing to talk about."

"That's where you're wrong," she countered, her voice mirroring his. "There are six months worth of topics for us to touch on. The sooner we do it, the better."

He looked at her for almost a full minute, in silence, before shifting his attention to the marina she was maneuvering the boat toward. Moving to her side, he put his hand on the wheel and motioned for her to step back.

"I'll take it from here," he said. "Go downstairs. Adam has been asking for you."

Nodding, she relinquished control of the craft and started down the shallow steps.

Adam was sitting on the edge of the cot tightly gripping the edges of a blanket that was draped around his shoulders. In front of him, Emily briefly smiled at the brunette then murmured to her brother that she would be right back.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, when Emily moved up the stairs.

He shrugged. "I'm tired but I can't sleep."

"Understandable," she said, moving to the chair his sister had vacated. "But, we'll have you home soon. I promise, sleep will come easier, once you're safe."

With his eyes drawn downward, he nodded. "I suppose."

She heard a change in the sound of the motor as Jarod reduced the speed of the boat. "We're almost there."

"Where were you?" he asked, suddenly bringing his eyes to hers.

Her brows furrowed as she met the brown, blood shot gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Where have you been for the last six months? Jarod needed you."

She was silent a moment, averting her eyes when tears began to well in his. A hundred responses came to mind but she could not bring herself to discuss with Adam the things she had not yet discussed with Jarod. Shaking her head, she whispered, "I thought it was for the best."

"You were wrong and you left without saying goodbye," he replied. Then, in a voice filled with emotion, he said, "Please, don't leave again."

The motor shifted into an even slower grind and Miss Parker moved to the young man's side. Her hand slid under the blanket he held and wrapped itself around his fingers. She wanted to tell him she wouldn't leave him. She wanted to tell him that there were things she and Jarod had to work out but that she would always be around, if he needed her. Instead, when she opened her mouth, Miss Parker heard herself say, "Six months ago, I had reasons for leaving, Adam. I don't have those reasons any more."

He stared at her. "So, you'll . . . stay?"

"As long as I can."

Before Adam could askMiss Parkerwhat she meant, Emily came bounding down the steps.

"We're here," she announced, moving to her brother's other side.

When the two dropped their eyes, the young woman hesitated. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No," Miss Parker quickly replied, looking up.

With a reluctant nod, Emily moved to her brother's right side and, slipping Adam's arm over her shoulder, gripped him around the back as Miss Parker did the same on the left. Together, they helped the boy stand and slowly climb the steps to the deck.

"We're parked at the end of the pier," Emily told Adam as they surfaced.

He glanced toward the lighted lot and took a deep breath.

"It's okay," Miss Parker promised. "I know it's a long walk, but we're going to help you."

"I'll finish up here," Jarod said, as he helped them from the boat. "I'll meet you at the car."

The women nodded, slowly moving down the center of the pier. After only a few yards, though, Emily pulled them to a stop.

"Adam, you're shivering. Are you cold?"

He nodded slightly but replied, "I'll be okay."

"Where's the jacket Jarod gave you?"

He shrugged. "I-I felt weird wearing it."

"So you took it off?"

"I-I'm sorry."

Seeing the worry that flashed in her brother's eyes, Emily gently squeezed his hand. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. We'll just go back for it."

Miss Parker frowned and untangled herself from Adam's hold, shifting the boy's weight to his sister. "There's no reason we all have to go back. I'll get it. Emily, can you manage to get him to the parking lot by yourself?"

The younger woman nodded and smiled at Adam. "Piece of cake."

Waiting until the siblings had moved a few steps, Miss Parker turned and hurried back to the boat. She glanced at Jarod, kneeling over his backpack but said nothing to announce her presence. Instead, she slipped into the hull of the boat and grabbed the jacket that had been discarded at the edge of the cot.

Just as she started back up the steps, she heard Jarod's voice.

"It's me," he said, gruffly. "Why did you call me?"

From where she stood, she had a clear view of his back. When she saw the cell phone pressed to his ear, she stepped into the shadows of the stairs.

Jarod hesitated, listening to the person on the other end for a second before replying in a dull voice, "I am a stolen child."

Miss Parker frowned at the words but did not interrupt the conversation.

"I understand," Jarod nodded. Without changing his tone, he continued, "I will go for a run at Midnight. I will do as I am told."

Her grip tightened around the bannister as she listened to his words. When he moved slightly, she found herself taking another step back, though she did not understand why she had done so. Just as she was about to force herself to the deck, Jarod disconnected the call.

She waited in her hiding place, watching Jarod slide the cell phone into his bag. As he rose to his full height, and slipped the backpack over his shoulder, he turned toward her. Startled, he looked at the woman as she emerged from the hull.

"I thought you were with Adam," he said, confused.

"I came back for the jacket," she replied, holding it up.

He stared at her, his hand on the door to the cabin. When she didn't move, he took a step back and tilted his head to the side. "Well, you've got it, so let's go. Adam and Emily are waiting."

Without a word, the brunette crossed his path. Climbing onto the pier, she glanced back only long enough to watch him lock the door. Then, with a quick look at her watch, she sighed. Two hours until Midnight. She had her work cut out for her.

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer in part 1

_Note: Thanks for all the great reviews - it's truly appreciated. Now - for those of you who were waiting for a Jarod-centric part ... here it is. I'm not sure it's exactly what you were expecting, though ;-) Hope you like it._

Survival II - Retribution  
by imagine

Day 4

He climbed effortlessly onto the deck of the ship then, following the directions he had been given, crossed into the nearest cabin. Unfazed by the fact he was not alone, Jarod stripped off his running shorts, shoes and long sleeve T-shirt. Moving into the shadows, he placed his cell phone on the dresser, then neatly folded the discarded clothing and slid them into the top drawer.

"I don't like this."

Lyle glanced at the man beside him, then turned his attention on Jarod. Unaware he was being watched, the Pretender donned the loose-fitting clothes that had been left on the bed.

"So you've said, several times. Now, tell him to lay on the bed."

With a heavy sigh, Philip Kelly faced his charge and gave the command.

Obediently, Jarod stretched out on the mattress. Though he would not struggle, or utter a word of protest, a hard rubber ball was forced between his teeth and held in place by lengths of electrical tape.

"Is this really necessary?"

Ignoring the doctor, Lyle continued securing the Pretender to the bed. Leather straps, anchored to the wooden frame, were wrapped tightly around his wrists, keeping them at his waist. A heavy link chain slid around the bed posts and through the padded cuffs that encased Jarod's ankles. Though they allowed the captive the ability to move his legs independently, from side to side, they kept him from raising the limbs more than a few inches above the mattress.

"He won't understand what's happened."

"Of course he will," Lyle replied. "Jarod is a very intelligent man."

* * *

With her hands wrapped around her mug of coffee, Emily stood barefoot on the deck and kept watch over the darkened beach. Despite the fact the moon was almost full, its glow was muted by clouds and the result was eerie, animated shadows on the sand. Though watching them shift and change sent chills through her body, Emily found that, if she stared at the images long enough, she could almost convince herself that they were not an omen of things to come.

There was a part of her that was angry at her brother and, in almost the same respect, there was a part of her that was afraid for him. When Miss Parker had told her about Jarod's plans to go for a run at Midnight, she had dismissed it as a misunderstanding. After all, the brunette had only heard one side of the conversation.

As the shadows grew and faded in the darkness, some, in the distance, picked up a rhythm that caught her attention. Moving to the edge of the deck, she peered at the approaching form and held her breath as it became identifiable.

"Did you find him?"

Miss Parker looked up and shook her head. Climbing the steps of the deck, she moved past Emily and answered, "No."

"You were only steps behind him," she pointed out, watching Miss Parker move to one of the deck chairs. "How could you have . . . ?"

"When it comes to eluding me, Jarod has had a lot of practice," she snapped. "Besides, he had at least a fifteen minute head start, it's pitch black out there and he's faster than I remember. I thought I heard a motor, at one point, but I must have imagined it."

"What kind of motor? You mean a car was nearby or . . ."

"Sounded like a boat," she grumbled, falling to the edge of the chair. "But, like I said, I must have imagined it. There was nothing out there."

"How can you be sure?" Emily pressed. "You said, yourself, that it was pitch black. Maybe . . ."

"What the hell did you want me to do? Jump into the Pacific?" Miss Parker interrupted. "Just let it go, all right? If he was out there, I didn't see him."

Biting back the retort that the brunette was making excuses, Emily stared at Miss Parker a long moment then turned to stare at the darkness.

"I'm sorry," she finally choked out, "It's been almost two hours. I thought he'd be back by now."

Miss Parker crossed her legs and began untying her shoes. Considering his past actions, she did not expect to see the Pretender again until the sun was shining but, though she found it difficult to believe that his sister would believe any differently, Miss Parker kept her opinions to herself.

Dropping her left shoe to the deck, she asked, "Is Adam asleep?"

Hesitating, Emily glanced through the patio doors, toward her younger brother's bedroom and shook her head. "He won't close his eyes."

"I thought he didn't want to be alone," she replied, frowning.

"He doesn't. My parents arrived about twenty minutes ago," she sighed. "They're in with him."

Miss Parker nodded and went back to undoing a knot in the laces of her right shoe. "It's about time they showed up. Where have they been? The drive from Venice Beach shouldn't have taken this long."

"Claire confiscated their cell phones and told them Adam was in Mexico. They were just North of the border when they decided to check in with us," Emily answered, defensively. "If they hadn't found a diner with a working pay phone, they'd be in Tijuana right now."

With the knot conquered, Miss Parker slid the shoe from her foot, retrieved the left shoe from the deck and moved to the railing. Reaching over the edge, she tapped the shoes against the wooden bannister and watched as the sand that had accumulated inside fell to the beach.

"Something is wrong," Emily murmured. "This isn't like Jarod. Adam was barely settled and we had no idea where my parents were. He wouldn't just leave."

Miss Parker tossed her shoes to the corner of the deck and, startled by the sound, Emily faced her. Holding the younger woman's gaze, the brunette pointed out, "He had no problem taking off for hours at a time when Adam was missing."

"That was different."

"Of course it was," she sighed, tiredly. Shaking her head, she folded her arms across her chest. "I forgot. You and Jarod are best buds now, aren't you? He confides in you. Just a word of warning, Emily, Jarod tends to have many secrets. It can be difficult to keep them straight."

Still staring at the other woman, Emily insisted, "This is not a matter of keeping his confidence. If I knew where my brother was, right now, I would tell you."

"Like hell. You're too worried about violating Jarod's trust to be concerned about his welfare."

"That's a lie!"

"Then, tell me what he told you," Miss Parker dared, spinning toward Emily. "Tell me where he goes on those bike rides and what he does while he's gone."

"Even if I could tell you, they're not relevant," the woman replied, unsure. "Jarod isn't on a bike ride. He went for a run."

"We both know that his disappearances are connected, Emily. If you want me to find him, I need a place to start."

When Emily was silent, Miss Parker scowled and started to turn away.

"Why do you need me to tell you anything?" she called. Waiting until Miss Parker came to a stop, she added, "You've made a career of finding my brother, Miss Parker. You know him better than anyone."

"I'm afraid your information is out dated, Emily," she replied, finally facing the other woman. "Jarod has changed. I don't know him as well as I used to."

"Maybe it's not Jarod who has changed," Emily accused. "Maybe it's you."

"Maybe, but I don't think so."

Miss Parker did not hear the sudden sadness in her own voice and she chose to ignore the flash of confusion that crossed Emily's face. Turning her eyes on the ocean, she grabbed the wooden railing with both hands and glared at the white foam rolling into shore.

"The Jarod I knew would never have disappeared while someone he cared about was in danger. He was too much of a worrier, had too much of a protective streak, especially when it came to his family."

"Jarod's reasons . . ."

"I don't give a damn what his reasons were," she hissed, shooting a withering glare at the younger woman.

"The Jarod I knew would never have referred to himself as a stolen child, at least not out loud. He would have considered it a remark of self-pity and, no matter what you may think of Sydney, he molded Jarod into someone who is too self-assured to condone a pity party. And, speaking of Sydney," she continued, ranting at a furious but controlled clip, "there is no way in hell that Jarod would have trusted anyone but Sydney with his therapy. Your brother is a proud man, Emily. He doesn't share his pain with just anyone, nor does he forgive easily. He would never have let me back into his house, without a long drawn out discussion."

Emily was silent, watching the brunette take deep breaths and slowly loosen her grip on the bannister.

Wiping her face with both hands, Miss Parker moved toward the door and slowly picked up her shoes. "The bottom line is that either your brother has changed considerably in the past six months, or I never really knew him. Take your pick. I haven't a clue what he's thinking."

"When did you hear Jarod refer to himself as a stolen child?" she asked softly.

"Earlier, when we were on the boat," she answered, waving her hand dismissively.

"Was this during the phone call you overheard? The one where he made plans to go for a run?"

She nodded and faced the younger woman.

"And you're sure he said those exact words - stolen child."

"I'm sure. Why all the questions? What are you getting at?"

Pivoting away, Emily placed her hand on the door leading into the house. Then, looking back at the brunette, she answered, "Maybe you're right, Miss Parker. Maybe I should trust you."

In the awkward silence that followed, the brunette raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the left. "If you're waiting for an argument, you're not going to get one from me."

"There's something you need to see," Emily replied softly. "Something I found in Jarod's room."

* * *

Before stepping back to admire his work, Lyle draped the dark hood he'd used to torment Adam over Jarod's face. As expected, though he was bound, gagged and now blindfolded, Jarod did not struggle. Deep down, Lyle felt a twinge of disappointment.

"You don't have to do it this way. He's still under the influence of my suggestion," Philip argued. "The images of the murders that are flashing through his mind are slowly convincing his subconscious that he was responsible. Let them run their course. I promise you, in less than fourteen hours, Jarod will be able to kill for you."

With his arms folded across his chest, and his eyes trained on the man on the bed, Lyle did his best to ignore the older man. He knew exactly what he was doing and did not feel the need to explain himself.

"Wake him up," he ordered, reaching for the cell phone.

"I do not think this is the best . . ."

Lyle pushed the device into the doctor's hand. Their eyes locked and, in his deepest, most threatening voice, the Chairman's son said, "You put him under, so your voice has to be the one to release him. Do it!"

Reluctantly, the man nodded and, taking the device, moved toward the door. Shooting an apologetic look at the oblivious Pretender, he pressed the required buttons to activate the phone's ringer. As the sound echoed in the room, Jarod's body shifted in response.

"You have your refuge, Jarod," he said, when the Pretender became still.

Slowly, Jarod began to wag his head from side to side, in an attempt to remove the hood. The muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled as he tried to bring his hands to his face. The more he tried and failed, the more desperate his attempts became and, soon, his entire body began to convulse. Tugging on the leather straps, pulling on the chains at his feet and tossing his head wildly from side to side, the man tried to free himself from his bindings.

Turning away from his charge, the doctor slid the phone back to the dresser and moved toward the door. Before he stepped from the room, though, Philip glanced at the struggles of the now panic-ridden man and faced Lyle. "Be careful," he warned.

Lyle's smile was thin and cold. "Always. Now, go, before he realizes you're here. You can watch his reactions from the monitors in the main cabin."

* * *

"How long have you known these were here?" she asked, fingering through the sketches.

"I found them yesterday afternoon," Emily admitted. Moving to where Miss Parker was sitting, in front of Jarod's desk, she added, "When you were out, looking for Jarod."

"You searched his room?" The brunette looked up, her eyes searching the younger woman's for a moment before she smiled and shook her head. Dropping her attention back to the sketches, she murmured, "There's hope for you, yet, Emily."

"I'm not proud of it."

"You don't have to be," she replied, without looking up. "Do you know who these women are?"

Emily nodded and crossed to the bedroom door. "I think so. I think they're the murder victims."

Sighing, Miss Parker closed the sketch book and, as Emily moved anxiously to the far side of the room, said, "Unfortunately, I think you're right. I'll have Broots find photos of the women so we can make positive identifications. What else did you find?"

Turning on her heel, Emily stared at the woman in confusion. "How did you know there was more?"

"There always is."

* * *

Lyle watched his captive's struggles, his smile widening as the man began to tire. Sliding onto the bed, he placed a soft hand on Jarod's chest and, almost immediately, the fighting came to a halt.

Though his breaths were still quick and labored, and his muscles were still taut, Jarod forced himself to remain still. A gentle finger traced the artery in his neck, scratched at his shoulder, and slowly crept down his right arm. His teeth punctured the hard rubber coating of his muzzle when the finger traced its path back to his shoulder and began dancing over the scar he had been assured was only visible by him. Though his instinct was to gag at the sudden, vile taste in his mouth, Jarod managed to keep his body in check by concentrating on the distant screams of seagulls. By the time the finger slipped under the cloth that draped his face, he had calmed himself considerably.

"Hello, Jarod."

When the blindfold was removed, Jarod winced. Though he wasn't sure why, the sight of Lyle standing above him was a surprise.

"Don't try to talk," the man warned, laying a hand across Jarod's mouth. Pushing at the ball that fit snugly between his teeth, Lyle watched his captive squirm.

_He pushed the towel deep into her mouth, warning her in a harsh whisper to be still. While one hand held the gag in place, he straddled the woman and let his free hand explore the flesh beneath her blouse._

Gripping Jarod's jaw tightly in one hand, Lyle watched, patiently, as the brown orbs darted in every direction, desperate to find something comforting in his limited field of vision. After a few seconds, however, the Pretender brought his eyes to those of his captor and was rewarded with a gentle pat on the cheek.

"Good boy," Lyle cooed, "I was afraid you might have forgotten some of the ground rules, but you've recalled two of the most important ones, haven't you?"

Jarod's brows furrowed in confusion as Lyle rose and moved to the foot of the bed.

"Just the same, maybe we should take a minute for review."

To his horror, with nothing more than a tap on the inside of his thigh, Jarod spread his legs. Lyle accepted the silent, albeit unintentional invitation, and settled himself in the open space. Without hesitation, he began running his hands gently across his captive's legs.

"You've been working out," he commented, "That means you're healthy. That's good."

Bringing his hands to Jarod's hips, Lyle watched the Jarod's face darken. His brown eyes widened and, finally, when the beads of sweat began to form on the bound man's forehead, Lyle slipped his fingers beneath the elastic waist band of Jarod's pants.

"Rule number one - Never pull away from me," the man softly recited, pulling the clothing to Jarod's knees.

The Pretender's jaw tightened around the ball, but he did not move.

_With her shirt open, he shifted his body from her slight hips to her calves and tugged at the woman's jeans. Though her arms were already restrained above her head, she resumed writhing beneath him as he worked. Annoyed by her abrupt movements, he chose to punish her with his full weight._

Lyle reached into his pocket and retrieved an empty vial. Simultaneously, Jarod drew both hands into fists. When the leather glove was stripped away and a pair of rubber ones were brought into view, it was more than Jarod could handle. The Pretender closed his eyes and turned his head away. An instant later, though, he was screaming into the gag and his wide, teary eyes were back on Lyle.

Loosening his grip on the other man's genitals, Lyle smiled and calmly said, "Rule number two - always keep your eyes on me."

* * *

"I found this, wedged against the side of the bathroom drawer."

Taking the mangled business card from Emily, Miss Parker stared at the name embossed in the center and nodded. She knew that Jennifer Forrest was the name of one of the murder victims. If she were a glass is half full kind of person, she would say that the fact Jennifer's business card was in Jarod's possession was coincidence. Unfortunately, she did not believe in coincidence any more than she believed in optimism.

"Anything else?"

Emily sighed and pointed to the desk drawers. "Other than some financial papers that I didn't go through, everything I found is in front of you."

Turning in her seat, Miss Parker opened the drawer and fingered the brightly colored files.

* * *

Keeping his eyes trained on the Pretender, the Chairman's son waited until Jarod got his breathing under control before gently massaging the abused area. His smile widened as Jarod's body began to react positively to the touch and, even wider, when he saw the shock, shame and confusion that flashed across his prisoner's face.

"It seems your body remembers what I expect," he taunted, continuing the gentle manipulation of the flesh. "You may not realize it, but that is another point in your favor."

_He ran his hand over her stomach, taking time to finger the puckered skin of her belly button before gracing her with a smile of approval._

Jarod bit the ball in his mouth so hard, blood trickled mixed with the chips of rubber and trickled down his throat. He wanted to throw up. He wanted time to make himself understand what was happening. Most of all, though, he wanted it all to stop. He wanted the nightmare to be over.

Taking deep breaths through his nose, and obediently keeping his gaze on his abuser, Jarod managed to keep the bile from rising. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop the tears of frustration that suddenly impeded his vision.

"Remember, Jarod," Lyle cooed, tightening his grasp enough to make the man gasp, "cooperation is the key to survival."

* * *

"What did you find in his laptop?"

Emily shook her head. "I don't know his password."

Without looking at up, Miss Parker pulled out her cell phone. Quickly dialing an eleven-digit number, she pressed the phone to her ear.

"It's me," she said. Her eyes followed Emily until the woman sat on Jarod's bed, then darted back to the sketchbook. "Jarod needs you. When's the next flight?"

Listening to the person on the other end of the phone, Miss Parker looked at her watch and nodded. "That gets you to LAX at, what, ten o'clock Pacific Time?"

"Good," she said, after listening to the response. "Rent a car at the airport. We'll be expecting you before noon. Can you make up an excuse? Good. And, while you're at it, make the reservations for three. Tell Broots I said that he and Debbie are to come with you."

Then, as quickly as the call began, it was ended. Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out the files. Hugging them to her chest, she stood and started toward the door.

"Are you coming?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Emily. "The sooner we get through these, the sooner we'll have an idea what we're up against."

Looking up, Emily nodded and silently followed the brunette into the living room.

* * *

Jarod swallowed hard, half hoping a remnant from the ball in his mouth would lodge in his throat and suffocate him. His inner-thighs were bruised, his groin felt like it was on fire, and, worse, he knew there was more to come.

He had no idea how much time had passed, or how he had become Lyle's captive, again, but he did know the pain he was in had been inflicted with glee.

Lyle ran a soothing hand along the Pretender's brow. "I'm sorry that your first day back has been so . . . strenuous. But, you have to understand that, because you took the boy, you are responsible for his samples, as well as your own. Once you return him, I promise, things will get easier."

He watched Jarod's face darken, and his eyes flash with defiance. Despite the pain it caused, his body bucked on the mattress, pulling at the restraints until Lyle struck him across the face.

_He struck her across the face. She cried out. His gloved hand covered her mouth and nose, adding pressure as she writhed beneath him._

"Very impressive," he grinned, pushing on the Pretender's neck. "Even though you're muzzled like a rabid dog, you still manage to convey your thoughts." His smile faded as he added, "We'll have to work on that, won't we?"

He waited until the man stopped struggling and the dark eyes glistened with frustration before he pulled back, decreasing the pressure on Jarod's airway. When the Pretender was, once again, taking deep, even breaths, Lyle reached over and, without warning, ripped the electrical tape from his mouth. The man's screams were muffled by the ball that was still wedged in place, but Lyle took great satisfaction from the sound.

"Watch the teeth," he warned. Blood bubbled up from the gums around three of Jarod's upper teeth as Lyle carefully pried the ball from the man's mouth. "If you bite, my next act will to remove them all - one right after the other. And you know I won't be gentle."

Jarod coughed and sputtered into his shoulder as the obstacle was removed. His jaw, having been held in such an awkward position for so long, felt numb, his throat was scratchy and, though his mouth was dry, the taste of blood was strong.

"Drink this," Lyle ordered, placing a bottle of water to the man's lips. When Jarod complied, he softly stroked the man's hair until the container was half empty. Pulling it away from Jarod's bruising lips, he slid the bottle to the dresser, he said, "You're learning to cooperate much more quickly this time. I like that."

Jarod said nothing.

Lowering the man's head back to the pillows, Lyle held the discarded ball for Jarod to see. "You really did a number on this. Look at all the missing chunks of rubber. That can't be good, can it?"

"How did I get here?" he managed. His voice was thick and his words were heavy.

"It doesn't matter," Lyle answered, dropping the ball into a nearby waste basket. "All that matters is that you are here and that I have many exciting things planned for our reunion. But, for now, you can relax. I have to take care of some business. When I return, we'll get you cleaned up. You're filthy."

"Wait," he called, straining his voice. When the younger man turned to gaze at him, Jarod dropped his head back to the pillow. "Just tell me how I got here. Please."

"You really don't know, do you?"

Jarod shook his head.

Tilting his head to one side, he asked, "What if I told you that you were betrayed - sold to me in exchange for someone else's freedom? Would you still want to know?"

Jarod's eyes widened. "Was I?"

"It's possible. What's the last thing you remember?"

Jarod licked his lips, his mind filling with images of him on a boat with Parker, Emily and Adam. He stared at Lyle for a long moment, wondering why he was trusting this man to tell him the truth. Then, before he could stop himself, he answered, "Going home. I remember going home."

"Then we have no problem because, that's exactly where you are," Lyle smiled. Pulling the door open, he stopped suddenly and looked back at the Pretender. When Jarod's eyes met his, he said, "A stolen child has no control."

"I am a stolen child," the Pretender answered, his voice suddenly as dull as his eyes.

"Therefore you will do as you are told, Jarod. You will lay quietly. When I return, you will be given additional orders. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

With a satisfied smile, Lyle stepped out of the room and closed the door.

* * *

Philip Kelly paced as he watched the exchange from the main cabin. Glancing periodically at the monitors, he shook his head and muttered to himself that his work was being undone.

"You should be proud, Doctor," Lyle said, entering the room. "It seems your methods are more successful than I believed. Jarod remembers nothing about how he got here."

"He remembers nothing because I haven't told him what to remember," the man spat. "The time he was under my control is a large blank in his memory. I need to fill it in."

"You'll do no such thing," Lyle growled, grabbing the man as he started for the door. "We've done things your way long enough, with little results. We're doing things my way now."

"Don't you understand? If Jarod experiences enough lapses in time, it could be detrimental to the project," the man protested. "Jarod could go mad."

Grinning, Lyle glanced from the monitor to the older man. "Here," he said, pulling a vial from his pocket. "You'll find a small cooler in the next cabin. Put this inside, next to the other samples and make sure you take it with you, when you leave. Send it to the facility in Atlanta. They're waiting for it."

Philip stared at the vial in his hand, finally looking up as Lyle retrieved his cell phone. "You drew much more than this from him. What are you going to do with the rest?"

"That's none of your concern," Lyle replied, casting a warning glance at the man as he punched the buttons on the phone. Bringing the device to his ear, he added, "Just do as you're told, Doctor, and you will be allowed more time with Jarod very soon."

"How soon?"

Lyle smiled and turned away. "Claire, it's me," he said into the phone. "I want you to come back to the ship. I have acquired something that should interest you."

* * *

"This is hopeless," Emily sighed, pushing a stack of files to the center of the table. "We've been at this for almost three hours and we're no closer to finding Jarod than we were at Midnight."

Miss Parker looked up as the younger woman rose from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. Stretching, she wiped her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.

"We have to keep looking," she insisted. "There has to be something in these files. Although, it would have been nice if he'd labeled the files. If I open one more file of utility bills, student reports or small appliance instruction manuals, I'm going to scream."

"Please, don't do that," a voice said from behind. "Adam just fell asleep."

Turning, she nodded at the Major and, returning his smile, said, "For the kid, I'll restrain myself."

"I don't know what Lyle or Claire told him but, the poor boy is terrified that we're going to send him away," he told her, sadly. Then, meeting her eyes, he said, "He keeps asking if Jarod is angry with him. Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"

"Not a clue," Miss Parker answered. "I can tell you that, when we were searching the ship, Jarod was terrified we weren't going to find him. When he finally saw Adam, I've never seen Jarod so relieved. He's not angry."

The man sighed and looked around the room. "I don't suppose he's back yet, is he?"

She shook her head. "Sorry."

"Should I be worried?" he asked, as Emily entered. "Is it normal for Jarod to be gone this long?"

"Unfortunately, Jarod has been spending a lot of time alone, lately," Miss Parker sighed, heading for the kitchen with her empty coffee cup "And, yes, you should be worried."

* * *

Watching the Pretender carefully, he first undid the cuffs that held the man's ankles in place. When there was no acknowledgment from his captive, Lyle slowly unfastened the leather strap holding Jarod's right wrist. Still, the Pretender did not move. Becoming more confident, Lyle released the left wrist and ordered the man to sit up and remove his shirt.

Without question, Jarod did as he was told.

This is going to be fun, he thought.

* * *

It took almost an hour for both Emily and Miss Parker to explain their concerns about Jarod's behavior. Though he paced the length of the room several times, the man listened attentively as they told him about the sketch book and explained the file folders stacked on the dining room table.

"You think there's a connection," he finally said. "You think Jarod is, somehow, connected to these murders and you're looking for proof."

Though he did not intend to sound accusing, Miss Parker bristled at the man's tone. Raising an eyebrow, she leaned over the table and growled, "I think Jarod needs help. The mere fact that we're even considering that he might be involved in these attacks proves my point."

"Then why are we waiting for Sydney? Doesn't Jarod have a therapist in Los Angeles?"

"Dr. Kelly," Emily nodded. "I spoke with him earlier but, he wasn't much help. He kept hiding behind patient/doctor confidentiality."

"Maybe I should talk to him."

"You can't," she said, placing a hand on her father's arm. "He told me he was leaving town for a while. There's no way to reach him."

"What kind of doctor is he?" the man sputtered. "Didn't he leave a pager or cell phone number, in case of an emergency?"

"He said his service would be able to reach him, if necessary."

"Meanwhile," Miss Parker interjected calmly, "Sydney is on his way here."

The Major and his daughter shared a look, then turned their attention on the brunette.

"You don't care for Dr. Kelly, do you, Miss Parker?" the Major asked.

"I don't know the man," she admitted. Holding his gaze, she lowered herself to one of the dining chairs and crossed her legs. "I do, however, know Sydney and I trust him. More important, though, Jarod trusts him."

"Yet, Jarod dismissed him."

"Not exactly," she sighed, picking up a red folder. "Jarod wanted to protect Sydney. He was feeling guilty about the things he shared during their sessions. The lies that Lyle fed him were spiteful and cruel, to say the least, and Jarod thought they would be easier to discuss with a stranger."

After a quick glance at her father, Emily asked, "Did Jarod tell you this?"

She nodded and began thumbing through the papers she found in the file. "The only reason Dr. Kelly is in the picture at all is because Jarod thought his memories were hurting Sydney."

* * *

"What happens now?"

"Relax, Doctor," Lyle groaned. "I know what I'm doing."

"You're terrorizing him."

He smiled and glanced at the monitor before answering, "I'm training him, something you should have done months ago. Now, if you'll excuse me, Claire will be here in a few hours and I haven't slept in twenty-four hours."

"You're going to take a nap?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Aren't you going to release him, first?"

"No. He's perfectly capable of continuing at his current pace while I nap," Lyle replied, looking back at the monitor. He smiled, watching the Pretender running in place. "He's in excellent physical shape and I don't need more than one or two hours of sleep."

"I am aware of his physical condition," the man sputtered. "But he needs to rest, he needs to sleep. You can't leave him in this state for one or two more hours."

"Why not?"

He stared at Lyle a moment, trying to determine if the man was joking. "He's suffered too many lapses in memory, already. You can't keep erasing parts of his mind, without replacing it with something else. You need to . . ."

"Stop telling me what I can or cannot do, Doctor. When I want your advice, I will ask for it."

"But . . ."

"You heard me. Now, make yourself useful," he sighed. Reaching into his pants pocket, he retrieved a set of car keys and tossed them at the man. "Take the small boat and return to land. I want you to go to the cove that faces Jarod's beach house. You'll find a Cadillac in the parking lot. Take the package from the trunk and bring it home with you."

"What kind of package?" he asked, skeptically.

Lyle smiled. "A very fragile package. If it responds to your voice, you can give it some water and something to help it sleep through the day - but nothing else. Above all, Doctor, make sure you keep it wrapped and in a safe, dark place. I'll pick it up tomorrow."

As Lyle spoke, the doctor's eyes widened in disbelief. "The girl? You want me to bring the girl to my home?"

"Your home?" he repeated, in a daring tone. "Correct me, if I'm wrong, Philip, but I purchased that cabin to provide you a place to work with Jarod. It belongs to me. And, until I decide otherwise, whether you like it, or not, so do you."

The muscles in Philip's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"Now, do as I say. Call me as soon as the girl is cared for and the samples are on their way to Atlanta," he ordered, stretching out on the mattress. "Depending on where I am with Jarod, I may have more instructions for you."

* * *

"So, tell me about these women again," the Major sighed. "Jennifer Forrest was the first victim, right?"

Emily nodded and sipped from her coffee cup as she reached for a new folder. "She was an artist. Her body was found in her studio."

"And, because her business card was found in the house, you believe she had contact with Jarod at some point."

"That's right."

Major Charles stared at the evidence in front of him and shook his head. "Do we know what kind of contact?" he asked, raising his eyes, hopefully. "Maybe Jarod purchased one of her pieces."

"It's on our list of things to check," Miss Parker replied, tossing a legal sized pad of paper in front of the man. "Broots will be able to search cyberspace for a lot of this stuff. We'll have to take care of the rest."

He sighed and reached for the sketch book. "Is it possible that Jarod's drawings are the result of a simulation? Emily said he told her he was trying to get into the head of the murderer."

"We thought of that," Miss Parker nodded. "I'm not an expert, but I don't think that's what's going on. It's much deeper."

"But you don't know."

"No. Which is one of the reasons I've called Sydney. He knows how Jarod pursues his pretends and the affects they might have on him."

"Hey, I think I found something."

Immediately, Miss Parker and Major Charles moved from their seats to the younger woman's side. Looking over Emily's shoulder, the brunette asked, "What?"

"This is a file of correspondence between Jarod and a real estate developer out of San Diego," she answered, handing one of the letters to her father and another to Miss Parker. "They were pressuring him, trying to get him to sell the beach house property."

Major Charles nodded as he scanned the page in his hand. "Jarod mentioned this to me about a month ago. But he said he had no intention of selling."

"That's what he told them, too," Emily agreed. "Several times."

"So, what does this have to do with anything?" Miss Parker asked, dropping her letter back into the folder.

"Look at the letterhead."

"Sunshine Realty. So?"

"Keep reading. Look at the names on the side."

Miss Parker sighed and shifted her gaze to the list of real estate professionals that were engraved on the left-hand side of the page.

"They're all women," the Major commented.

"Right, but that's not what I'm getting at," Emily replied. "Third name down. It's the same name that signed all the letters."

"Rose Barber," Miss Parker whispered, looking up. "Murder victim number two."

* * *

Lyle unlocked the door and moved into the room. As expected, Jarod ignored his presence.

The Pretender was bathed in sweat, his breaths were quick and, the water bottle in his right hand was empty. Lyle glanced at his watch and nodded, impressed by the other man's physical stamina. It had been almost an hour and forty-five minutes since Jarod began his marathon to nowhere and, though he was beginning to struggle, Lyle guessed the man could last at least another twenty to thirty minutes before he collapsed. If Claire wasn't on her way, he might have taken a seat on the bed and waited to find out how close his estimate was but, as it was, he didn't have the time.

"Jarod, stop running."

Immediately, the man did as he was told.

"Jarod, take off all your clothes," he said, reaching for the cell phone, "and come into the bathroom."

* * *

He was aware of a ringing phone somewhere in the distance and a murmured promise of refuge but, bent over the toilet, Jarod's body was too busy purging itself to allow the man to consider the sounds for very long. He was sweating from every pore, his body shivering uncontrollably as his stomach angrily ejected its contents.

As each convulsion became less violent, he became more aware of someone else in the room. A strong arm circled his waist, its hand pressing lightly against his belly as it held him in place. Another hand held his forehead, keeping him from hitting his head on the porcelain rim. A soft voice whispered that he would feel better soon.

When the retching finally stopped, leaving him with nothing but a dry but acid tasting cough, he fell back on his knees. Immediately, his mouth was wiped with a wet cloth. His eyes were blurry, sweat still dripped from his hair and his heart was still racing when a glass of water was pressed to his lips.

"Rinse," the voice commanded.

Without question, Jarod did as he was told. The idea of swallowing anything at the moment was unthinkable.

"See? I told you that you would feel better, once all that rubber was out of your system."

Looking from the empty bottle of Ipecac Syrup in Lyle's hand to the man's hard blue eyes, Jarod felt his stomach clench. Swallowing hard, he took several deep, quick breaths to stop his body from another seizure.

"It's time for your bath."

As he was pulled to his feet, Jarod noticed, for the first time, that he was completely naked.

"What happened to my clothes?" he asked, softly.

Lyle laughed and pushed him forward. "It's customary to remove them before bathing. Get in."

His legs seemed heavier than they should and took longer to react to the shove. Before Jarod could stop himself, his shoulder crashed into the wall. As a low cry of pain escaped his throat, he felt Lyle's arms circled him, gently rubbing the injured area. Though the man offered words of apology, Jarod heard the amusement in his voice. Frowning, he stepped into the enamel tub.

The water was cold but, rather than complain, Jarod began lowering himself into a sitting position. Numb for a reason Jarod could not identify, his knees buckled and the Pretender slipped on the slick surface of the tub. His head hit the bottom of the tub and, as Jarod was on his back, cold water splashed over his mouth and nose. Stunned, Jarod barely had time to realize what had happened before he felt Lyle pulling him up.

"You need to be careful. A person can drown in two inches of water," Lyle chastised, suddenly pulling Jarod upright. While the man coughed and sputtered, working to get the water from his lungs Lyle easily secured Jarod's wrists to the safety bar. When Jarod finally realized he was bound, and pulled at the restraints, Lyle patted him on the head and said, "It's for your own safety. I don't want you getting hurt, unnecessarily, so I'm going to keep a close eye on you."

Jarod opened his mouth to protest but, as he did so, Lyle's hands disappeared under the water and something pushed itself between his legs. The Pretender began to shiver. Memories he'd fought to exorcize were suddenly the only images his mind could conjure. Fingers prodded and pulled at his already bruised organs. His legs and arms were massaged, his shoulders caressed and, throughout it all, Lyle's gaze never left his.

"Just think," the man murmured, reaching for the soap, "less than twenty-four hours ago, Gemini was sitting in exactly this same spot."

Jarod's eyes widened. "You didn't . . ."

"Calm down, Jarod," he said, effectively interrupting the man with a warning squeeze of his leg. "Unlike you, the boy could be trusted to bathe himself. However, he did need assistance getting out of the tub and into bed."

"If you hurt him . . ."

Before Jarod could finish the threat, Lyle forced the soapy cloth into his mouth. Holding it in place, he pushed the Pretender against the wall. With his hands bound to the safety bar, Jarod's struggle was brief but, even after he became still, his eyes continued to bore into his Lyle's.

_The more she fought, the more pressure he added to her throat, and the more excited he became. Forcing her legs open, he watched her eyes widen and fill with new tears as he pushed himself inside. _

"You don't really want to threaten me, right now, do you?" the man dared. When the tension in Jarod's muscles drained, and the Pretender averted his eyes, Lyle grinned. "I didn't think so."

Backing away, he pulled the cloth from Jarod's mouth and let it drop to the water. "Besides, you will soon realize that the boy is my property, just as you are. You stole him from me, Jarod. You will return him to me."

"Never," he coughed, shaking his head.

Lyle laughed and grabbed the man's hair, pulling him close, "You, of all people, should know better than to say never, Jarod. Don't you remember? You've already told me where he is, and we're on our way to the marina."

"No," Jarod whispered, pulling from Lyle's grasp. "You're lying. I didn't tell you . . ."

"He's at your beach house." Watching the man absorb the words, Lyle stroked Jarod's hair and added, "At the rate you're progressing, by the time we arrive, you might have earned enough freedom for me to allow you to bring him back alone."

The Pretender was suddenly quiet, his eyes widening as they searched Lyle's face for some sign of deception. This was a trick. Lyle was guessing. He was dreaming. When he found nothing to substantiate his thoughts, though, Jarod dropped his gaze.

"It's hard for you to accept, I know," Lyle whispered, running a soft hand along Jarod's bearded jaw. "But, you belong to me, Jarod. You will do exactly as I say because a stolen child has no control."

* * *

Sydney was out of the car before Broots had pulled it to a complete stop. Moving quickly up the steps, he knocked on the door and pushed it open at the same time.

"Miss Parker? Emily?" he called.

"Sydney! You're early," Emily replied, rising from her seat. "Miss Parker said you weren't going to be here for at least another hour."

"Traffic was light," he answered, absently. "Where is Jarod?"

"I'm afraid he isn't back yet," Major Charles replied, entering from the hall leading to Adam's bedroom. Extending his hand, he said, "Good to see you, Sydney."

The two men shook hands quickly then the psychiatrist glanced at his watch. "Are you telling me Jarod had been gone for more than eleven hours?"

"That's right," the Major nodded, "and I have to admit, I'm more than a little worried. We've been out looking for him every hour. Emily and I just returned a few minutes ago. I expect Miss Parker will be back very soon."

Emily glanced at her father then took a step toward Sydney as Broots and Debbie entered.

"You don't need to stand by the door," she smiled, motioning the men into the living room. "Come inside. I'll get you something to drink and we'll bring you up to speed on what's been happening."

* * *

Miss Parker climbed around the boulders that blocked her view of the rest of the beach. From her perch at the top, she looked down at the rolling waves and disappearing sand. It was a view she'd looked at several times over the last few hours but, the only difference was that the tide was rising. She sighed and looked down the beach.

"Where are you, Jarod?" she whispered.

* * *

He opened his eyes to find he was, once again, tied to the bed but, this time, pillows supported his back against the headboard. A blanket covered him from the waist down but it was too thin to hide the fact that he was naked. On the table beside him was a bowl of something, a spoon, a bottle of water and, in the corner, a fresh roll of electrical tape.

The door opened and, without warning, sunlight burst into the dark room. For a brief moment, Jarod relaxed.

"Hello, Jarod."

The woman closed the door and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Claire."

"You remembered," she smiled, moving to his side. "I'm flattered."

"Don't be," he growled, watching her remove her jacket. "What do you want?"

Draping the garment over the edge of a nearby chair, she faced him as the door opened a second time. Jarod turned toward the sun, only to have it disappear even more quickly than it had before.

"Is he behaving?" Lyle asked.

"He's a little grouchy," the woman replied, folding her arms across her chest. "But, I suppose, considering his situation, that's to be expected."

"But easily rectified."

Jarod blanched as a Lyle pulled a new rubber ball from his pocket and advanced on the man. Tugging at his restraints, the Pretender turned his head away, refusing to open his mouth until he felt Lyle's hand on his groin. His head snapped toward the younger man, his eyes widening with panic.

"Open up," Lyle ordered, tossing the ball in the air.

He hated begging, he hated the way his voice sounded and the dirty way it made him feel but, it was preferable to what his captor was threatening. "Lyle, no. Please. Don't do this again."

"I gave you an order, Jarod, and I'm not going to tell you again," he warned. "Now, we can either do this the easy way - or the painful way."

He felt Lyle's fingers begin to tighten over the sheet and, reluctantly, Jarod opened his mouth. A thin grin spread across Lyle's face as he pushed the object between the already bruised lips and loose teeth of his prisoner, fastening the ball in place with electrical tape. Leaning closer, he pressed his lips to the man's ear and whispered, "Make me proud, Jarod. Make her happy and you will never have to see the inside of the Centre again."

Jarod's brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes darting to the woman as she slipped out of her shoes.

"Claire and I have been in negotiations," Lyle continued, his hand still massaging Jarod through the sheet. "While she makes her decision, she is going to play with you awhile. She's thinking of it as a test drive so I expect you to perform. Is that clear?"

Looking at the woman over his shoulder, he asked, "Do you want the hood on or off?"

TBC

Feedback is greatly appreciated ;-)


	13. Chapter 13

Note: Thank you for all the great reviews. It's nice to know that people are still reading this story after all this time!

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II - Retribution  
by imagine

Part 13?

"On or off?" Lyle repeated, impatiently.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Claire crawled onto the mattress and slowly ran her hands along the length of Jarod's legs. As her fingernails lightly scratched the area below his patch of curly hair, she glanced at the black hood in Lyle's hand and then smiled at the man chained to the bed.

"Off," she replied, beginning a firm massage of the Pretender's inner thigh. "I may want to use the mask to enhance his subsequent performances but, for now, I want to watch his face. He is so expressive."

Concentrating on the rhythm of his breaths, he tried to ignore the insistent movement of her fingers against his flesh. When she began kneading his genitals as if they were lumps of bread dough, Jarod tensed and bit down on his gag but did not avert his gaze from the woman.

"That ball in his mouth is too restrictive. Take it out," Claire ordered. Casting an evil grin in Jarod's direction, she rose from the bed and slid a silk scar from the lapel of her jacket. "Use this to keep him quiet. Once he's earned the privilege, I'll remove it, but in the meantime I can easily work around it."

The muscles in his jaw had stiffened around the ball, which made its removal almost as painful as its insertion had been. Jarod groaned and arched his back, his fists tightening at his sides and his legs kicking out as far as his chains would allow while Lyle tugged at the object. The muscles in and around his mouth were stretched to their limits and blood began to trickle down his throat, stimulating the Pretender's instinct to gag as Lyle finally dislodged the rubber sphere from his lips.

Immediately, his body began to convulse in a fit of violent coughs. Tears running down his face, his body shaking under the touch, he did not refuse the water Lyle held to his mouth and, soon, the attack began to subside.

Setting the glass on the night table, Lyle retrieved the scarf and looked down at his captive. Warning the man against pulling away, he slid the new gag between Jarod's lips and tied it tightly into place.

"Are you feeling better, Hon?"

The predatory gaze that traveled the length of his naked body and the slow, thoughtful, movement of the woman's right hand as it slid over her collar bone filled him with a sudden chill, but Jarod managed a slight nod in her direction.

"Glad to hear it," she said, stepping forward as Lyle rose from the mattress, "because I'm anxious to get things started."

Ordering Lyle to leave them alone, Claire began to undress slowly. Nimbly manipulating the tiny buttons of her blouse, she let it hang open. Reaching behind her back, she tugged at the zipper at her waist, but her eyes never left Jarod's face. With each step, the skirt slid lower on her bare hips, finally falling to the floor as the Pretender turned away. She laughed but did not chastise him. Instead, she mounted the man and settled herself on his firm abdomen. Burdening Jarod with her full weight, Claire sharply pressed her knees into his ribs, silently demanding his attention as she removed the last of her garments.

"So, this is what Gemini is going to look like in twenty years," she murmured, leaning over the bound man. He tensed at the reference to his brother, but the gag prevented him from warning her against mentioning Adam a second time.

Stretching her body over his, the woman ran her lips along the taut line of his jaw while her fingernails pressed into his arms like the talons of a falcon. Her breath smelled like mint, her skin like strawberries. Jarod concentrated on the scents, closing his eyes as he tried desperately to ignore what was happening. Her tongue slid along the side of his neck and when she felt him tense, she bit his earlobe. When Jarod winced, Claire purred, "Nice."

* * *

Sydney listened patiently, and silently, as Emily explained Jarod's role in rescuing Adam, the boy's reaction to seeing his older self, and her confusion about the Pretender's sudden disappearance. When she was done, he set his coffee cup on the table and rose from his chair. 

"Where is Adam?"

"In his room," the Major answered. "Margaret is with him."

The psychiatrist looked toward the young man's room then back at his father. "Has he been examined by a doctor yet?"

"No, he refuses to see anyone, except the family."

"Understandable, under the circumstances," Sydney nodded, adding gently, "but, I am sure I do not need to tell you that he should be examined as soon as possible."

"We've already discussed it with him and Adam has promised to allow an examination after he has rested."

Nodding, Sydney turned away and moved across the room, stopping half way between the dining table and Jarod's bedroom.

"Does he know about Jarod's disappearance?"

"He knows Jarod went for a run," Emily answered. "That's all."

Sydney stared at his protege's empty room from the center of the living room for a moment then asked, "When was the last time Jarod slept?"

Simultaneously, Major Charles and Broots turned their eyes on Emily. The woman frowned.

"It's been awhile."

"I need you to be more specific, Emily." Turning on his heel, he moved back to the table, but did not return to his seat. "Did he sleep at all today?"

"He left for a bike ride around dawn and didn't return until almost three. A few hours after that, we went after Adam," she murmured, as if she were reminding herself of the sequence of events. In a more confident, but equally sad, voice she shook her head and added, "No, I don't think he had time to sleep."

"What about last night?" the Major prompted. "Did he close his eyes at all?"

She sighed and faced her father. "I went to bed, around two thirty, he and Miss Parker were talking. I think I heard Miss Parker come upstairs about twenty minutes later."

"So, presumably, Jarod went to bed around the same time," Sydney reasoned. "Which means he had approximately three hours sleep."

"Close, but no cigar."

Turning, Sydney smiled fondly at the woman as she stepped through the French doors and closed them behind her. "Miss Parker, it is good to see you."

"You too, Freud," she grinned, taking the last sip from her water bottle.

Her eyes traveled from Sydney to Emily and the Major. The anxious expectation she saw in their faces caused her grin to fade and her gaze to lower as she moved into the room. When she found the courage to look up, the Major had turned away, instinctively knowing she had failed. Emily, however, was still staring at her hopefully.

"There was no sign of him," Miss Parker said softly, shaking her head as she answered the unspoken question. Once the younger woman nodded and turned away, in mute acceptance, the brunette allowed herself to release the breath she had been holding. Crossing toward the kitchen, she winked at the balding man standing at the entrance and said, "Thanks for coming, Broots."

"You don't need to thank me, Miss Parker. I **_want_** to help."

"I saw Debbie on the beach and we had a nice talk," she said, disappearing into the other room. When she reappeared, sans a water bottle, she added, "Your daughter is beautiful, Broots. She's becoming a strong, intelligent, and caring woman."

"Well, she wants to be like you," he answered. Though his voice was soft, and gave the impression of hesitation, when Miss Parker looked up, the technician did not avert his eyes.

She held his gaze for only a heartbeat, returning his grin before she faced Sydney.

"Jarod and I went to our rooms a little before three but he didn't sleep," she said, continuing the conversation she'd interrupted a few moments before. "I could hear him from my room. He paced and, from the sounds of it, exercised, until he left for his bike ride."

"So neither of you has slept in more than twenty-four hours."

Though his tone was filled with concern, not accusation, Miss Parker raised her eyebrow and warned, "You aren't here for me, Freud. I'm fine."

Ignoring the brunette, he looked at the younger woman. "Did Jarod sleep the night before?"

"After we got the call that Adam had been taken, we spent most of the night talking about how we were going to get him back. I fell asleep around three thirty, or so. When I woke up at six, he had already gone."

Sydney frowned. "When did he return?"

"Around four o'clock. He was dozing on the deck when I came home."

"Well, that's something," the psychiatrist nodded. "What about before you received the call about Adam? Had he rested, at all?"

"My flight didn't land until after two, so I don't know what he did before I arrived, but he seemed fine. He showed me the town then brought me to the house to unpack. We did some shopping, went for a swim and then he made us a late dinner. Jarod went to bed around ten," she admitted, "but he couldn't have slept longer than half an hour."

"Are you sure? I thought the call from your parents didn't come in until almost midnight."

"Jarod didn't sleep because he was having nightmares," she sighed, glancing at her father. "He's been having them for weeks."

"Did he tell you that?" Major Charles asked.

Solemnly, Emily nodded.

"I'm sure he is fine," Broots offered, awkwardly, "Thanks to the Centre, Jarod has been having nightmares for years but he always manages to get the rest he needs."

"There's more," Miss Parker replied, glancing nervously at Sydney. Reaching behind her, she retrieved the notebooks Emily had found in Jarod's room and handed them to the older man. The room was silent as Sydney slowly lowered himself to a nearby chair and began studying the images on each page.

"Jarod drew these," he said quietly, without lifting his eyes. Though there was no question, Emily and Miss Parker nodded.

"We think they're murder victims," Miss Parker explained, as Broots moved behind the older man to peer over his shoulder. Showing them the newspaper articles, she explained the connections they'd made between two of the women and Jarod. With her eyes trained on Sydney's face, she watched the man's muscles suddenly harden. "As of now, we have nothing connecting Jarod to the third victim, Susan Pearce."

"You cannot possibly think Jarod is responsible for these deaths," he growled, his eyes suddenly flashing with anger. "He is not capable of . . ."

"Do I think he has it in him to intentionally hurt an innocent person? Of course not," she interrupted confidently. "But, the only way we can prove he is innocent is to investigate the possibility."

While the man digested her words, Miss Parker turned to Broots.

"We need to identify the women in the drawings. The newspapers did not print photos of the murder victims so I want you to see what you can find. Can you do it?"

Broots nodded. "Sure. Not a problem."

"Good because I also want you to give me everything you can find about the police investigation into the murders. Knowing what they're doing will keep us from tripping over the local authorities. While you're at it, see what you can find out about Susan Pearce."

* * *

Lyle watched the monitor carefully, looking for any indication that his plan was working. Leaning forward, he could see the confusion, pain and fear in Jarod's face but it wasn't enough. He wanted to see anger and desperation. He had not considered that Jarod might submit to Claire's will so easily. 

Glancing at the clock on the desk, he sighed. If Philip was right, Jarod would not be capable of performing the assigned task for at least three more hours and Lyle was not a patient man. Rising from his seat, he moved to the door. Immediately, Willie stepped into view.

"I have the information you wanted, Sir."

"Good. You can tell me later. Right now, I want you to come with me," he ordered, starting down the hall.

With the sweeper in tow, Lyle moved quickly to Jarod's room. Not bothering to announce himself with a knock he entered as Claire slid the hood over the other man's face. Draped in the tunic Jarod had been wearing during his session with Lyle, and nothing else, she crossed her arms and moved from the bed.

"What do you want?" she demanded, stepping between the Pretender and the Chairman's son.

"Jarod," he replied, nodding toward the bound man. The Pretender turned toward his voice but the hood prevented them from making eye contact. Lyle took a step back and motioned for Willie. Waving toward Jarod, he ordered the sweeper, "Bring him to my cabin."

"We had a deal. I'm not done with him," Claire complained.

"You've had him for almost three hours," he snapped, meeting her gaze angrily. "He needs to rest if you plan on treating him the same way tonight."

When she said nothing, Lyle's attention slid to the bed. Amused, he watched as the Pretender tried to find the strength to pull away from Willie's touch. Free of the chains around his legs, Jarod kicked out, making contact with the black man's chest only once before the Sweeper retaliated with a backhanded blow across the man's face.

Despite the punishment he'd received, Jarod did not stop struggling until he felt the fabric of his pants being moved over his legs and up his body. Though it did not surprise Lyle to discover that Jarod would react positively in exchange for a comfort such as clothing, it did surprise him that Willie did not add a few more bruises to the man, just for pure fun.

"What are you going to do with him?" she asked, as Jarod was pulled into a sitting position.

Slowly bringing his eyes back to the woman, Lyle replied, "Whatever I want."

* * *

"What about Jarod?" Sydney asked, sharing a quick look with Major Charles and Emily, "What are we going to do about finding him?" 

"I'm open to suggestions," Miss Parker sighed. "But, I have to be honest with you, Syd. I don't think we can do much more than we've been doing. We just need to keep searching the beach and bike path."

"Why restrict ourselves to those two locations? He could be anywhere."

"We have no idea where else to look," Major Charles interjected. "The beach was the last place Jarod was seen and he has been to the bike path several times in the past few days. Other than that, I'm afraid none of us know enough about Jarod's life here to hazard a guess about where he might go."

The psychiatrist scowled and turned away. Even if he hadn't felt their eyes on him as he moved, he would have seen the concerned reflections in the doors that led to the deck. Keeping his back to the other adults in Jarod's life, Sydney stared out at the ocean.

"What about his therapist? Has anyone contacted Philip Kelly?" he asked, watching them through their reflections.

"I talked to him yesterday," Emily reported.

As Emily told the group about her telephone conversation, Sydney's body stiffened. When she was done, he pivoted toward the woman. "The man left town, even after you told him your concerns about Jarod's behavior?"

Startled by Sydney's reaction, Emily glanced at Miss Parker and then nodded.

"In his defense, though," she replied hesitantly, "I don't think Jarod has seen him recently. Jarod told me he didn't like Dr. Kelly's proposed treatments."

Sydney frowned. "What kind of treatments were suggested?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't say."

"Where is Philip Kelly's office?" Sydney asked, moving away from the deck. "I think it is time I had a look at Jarod's file."

"Dr. Kelly is out of town. You won't be able to see him until he returns and he didn't tell me . . ."

"You misunderstood me, Emily," the older man interrupted sharply. "I have no desire to speak with Philip Kelly. I only want to review his notes concerning Jarod. Now, what is the address?"

* * *

When the door opened, Jarod had no idea how much time had passed since Willie transported him to one of the other cabins on the ship. With the hood still in place, and his limbs strapped to the arm and leg rests of a wheelchair, Jarod kept his head lowered and concentrated on the footfalls of his visitor. They were slow and their echo was soft, even as he felt the presence draw nearer. When the steps came to a sudden halt, Jarod's jaw tightened around the scarf that was still spread across his mouth. 

"We docked at the marina ten minutes ago," Lyle announced. "As soon as night falls, Willie and two other men will be dispatched to your home. They will be charged with bringing the boy back to the ship."

As soon as the words were spoken, Jarod pulled at his restraints, the gag preventing him from uttering more than a muffled sound of protest.

"Relax. There is nothing you can do to stop them," Lyle said, watching as the already abused man struggled against bindings he knew would not break. "All you're going to do is hurt yourself."

Yanking the hood off his captive, he waited until Jarod's eyes adjusted to the light before stepping in front of the man and slowly pulled the scarf from his mouth. "However, you do have the power to make things easier for everyone concerned."

Rolling a small table that held artist supplies from the corner, he said, "I want a detailed blueprint of your house, Jarod. I want you to include the locations of all entrances, circuit breakers, telephones, and, of course, all security codes. The object is to retrieve the boy and escape quickly, with as little resistance as possible."

"Go to hell."

Lyle grinned and shook his head. "You seem to have forgotten that I give the orders here, Jarod, not you. The sooner you accept that fact, the better chance your clone has of surviving."

"Adam is safe," Jarod growled, though he suddenly felt unsure. "He's going to stay that way."

"You still don't get it, do you? My men will invade your home, and bring the boy back, regardless of whether or not you cooperate. The only thing that you have the power to change is what happens to him, afterward, and whether or not the rest of your family survives the coup."

Jarod's eyes shot up, meeting Lyle's blue orbs with a silent, urgent demand for an explanation.

"Without the information I've asked for, my men will not hesitate to kill everyone they find on the property. The boy's life, of course, will be spared but you will never see him again."

Though the gag was no longer in place, Jarod said nothing. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the security monitors, the layout of the furniture and, the placement of the exits while his mind raced with the various endings to his situation. Nothing comforted him.

"Leave him alone," he whispered. "You have me."

Stepping behind the chair, he released the brakes and repositioned Jarod so that he was facing a wall of four large monitors. As he moved to the Pretender's side, he aimed a remote control at the wall and, immediately, all four television sets lit up with images of Claire and Adam.

"Yes, I have you, but it isn't enough. You see, Jarod, the problem is that, despite your many talents, even you cannot be in two places at once. I need you here so that you can continue your training and so that my clients can continue their research. But, now that Claire is aware you're alive, she wants to bring you back to the Centre. I cannot let that happen."

Lyle moved in front of the monitors and looked up at the screen on his right. Freezing the image of a soaking wet Adam curled on the deck of the ship, he slid his hand over the boy's features.

"Luckily, for you, Claire and I have come to an arrangement."

"Do tell."

"She has agreed to keep the fact that you're alive to herself and, in exchange, I will make you available for her use," he explained, facing Jarod. "That was what this afternoon's session was all about - she needed proof that you had the ability to satisfy her. Evidently, you did the job very well because she's requesting an encore performance tonight."

The thought of being violated by the woman again caused his insides to twist and his lungs to constrict but Jarod managed to hide his discomfort. At least, he thought he had until he saw the smirk cross Lyle's face.

"Claire is too ambitious to think her silence is only worth the opportunity to rape me," he growled. "What else does she want?"

Lyle paced in front of the bound man for a few moments, his arms folded across his chest. When he came to a stop, he held Jarod's eyes with his and said, "She wants custody of the boy."

Though Lyle's answer was not a surprise, Jarod had no time to respond. Suddenly, the images on the screen began to move and his eyes were drawn to the action. He watched as the woman hovered over Adam, her hand stroking his face and arms as she spoke. He watched as the boy tried to turn away, only to be held in place by a firm grip under his chin.

"It seems she has developed even more of an affinity for the boy than she has for you," Lyle continued, still framed by the monitors. "Once I pointed out that he could be trained to do anything you were capable of doing, she accepted our deal without hesitation. Of course, the fact that you satisfied her so well, on the first attempt, probably means she is going to expect the same from Gemini in the very near future."

"You son of a . . ."

"Now, now," he warned, "we don't have time to discuss my lineage. Wouldn't you rather discuss the boy's safety?"

Moving away from the monitors, Lyle motioned to one on his left and, without realizing he was doing so, Jarod followed the unspoken direction.

His eyes focused on Claire, standing beside a closed door with her arms wrapped around her waist and her face frozen in anger. When the door opened, she moved away, dropping her arms as she watched Adam being pulled from the room. His face was covered with the hood, his hands were tied behind his back and he was struggling to free himself from the men that held him. Claire stared at the young man then, without a word, nodded to the guards and turned away as Adam was tossed into the ocean.

"One of Claire's men will be accompanying Willie to the beach house. It was the one demand I could not make her rescind," he said. "However, if you cooperate with me, I will tell Claire that the boy escaped and that her man died in the battle."

"And my family?"

"You have my word that your family will not be harmed."

Jarod shot an angry scowl in Lyle's direction. "Your word means nothing."

"Yet, it's all you have," the other man reminded him, in a deep voice.

Their eyes met long enough for Lyle to see the uncertainty in Jarod's defiance. Holding the man's gaze, he hardened the features of his own expression and waited for the Pretender to react.

When Jarod finally turned away, Lyle smiled to himself and said, "The boy will be brought to the ship and, providing you both do as you are told, you will be rewarded with occasional visits. Each of you will be the other's incentive to cooperate and neither of you will ever see the inside of a Centre facility. Of course, you may be required to service Claire, from time to time, to keep her from revealing the fact that you're alive but, as long as you do as you're told, she will never have access to the boy."

Jarod's eyes slid to the monitors in time to see Claire sitting at the edge of Adam's bed. Though the boy was not facing the woman, as she spoke, he shook his head tiredly. When she reached out to stroke his hair, Adam raised his arm to block the touch. Without hesitation, Claire took the rebelling hand in hers and brought it to her chest.

"I am trying to help you help him," Lyle pressed. "I am giving you control of the situation, control someone like you should never have."

"Someone like me?" Locking eyes with his abductor, Jarod spoke in a deep, threatening voice, "You are operating under the assumption that I am incapable of protecting my family without giving in to your demands, Lyle. Be very careful about underestimating me."

"Don't be so defensive," the man murmured. "I am not underestimating you. I am speaking the truth. After all, a stolen child has no control."

* * *

As soon as Jarod began his assigned tasks, Lyle stepped out onto the deck, locking the door behind him. Claire, who was waiting at the railing, turned to face him as he approached. 

"Well? What time will he be ready to leave?"

"Soon," Lyle sighed, moving past her. "He needs to rest."

"You know the deal, Hon. He stays with me until the boy is delivered."

"And, I stay with him," Lyle spat, spinning to face her. "I am not giving you the same opportunities I gave you with the boy."

"What are you talking about? I kept my part of the deal with the boy. The moment I had those disks in my hand, he belonged to you."

Biting back the words that came to mind, Lyle looked over the woman's shoulder at Willie. Curious about his sudden silence, the woman followed his gaze only to see the black man nod and disappear into one of the cabins. When she brought her eyes back on Lyle, a thin smile had spread across the man's face.

"Before you say anything else, and dig yourself a deeper hole," he warned, "let me, make a suggestion: Find Ian and have a nice long talk with him. Willie recently did just that, and he found the man very informative."

Before Claire could say another word, Lyle moved away. After a few steps, he glanced at her over his shoulder and added, "Jarod and I will be ready to escort you back to the hotel in an hour."

* * *

Having allowed the man to bathe, shave, and dress himself, Lyle released Jarod from his hypnotic state as he was guided from the bathroom to the main part of the cabin. Though Patrick Kelly's warning that too many lapses in memory could be detrimental to his project, the Chairman's son was enjoying watching his captive's confusion too much to fill in the blanks with false memories. 

"Willie and his team will be leaving for the beach house in a few hours," he said, leading Jarod to the wheelchair. When the Pretender's eyes widened at the sketches that adorned the artist's table, Lyle stepped back and allowed the man to inspect the documents. "Thanks to the blueprints and information you provided, they should have the boy back on the ship by the time you and I return from Claire's hotel."

Jarod's fingers slid gently across the paper, hovering over the notes in the margins that were written in his hand. Shaking his head, he stared at the security codes only he knew, mutely reaching out when Lyle rolled the diagrams and slid them into a cardboard tube.

"You have been so cooperative this afternoon, I have decided you should be rewarded."

Jarod's eyes were drawn to Lyle's face as the man snapped his fingers. Immediately, the door opened and Willie appeared, carrying a tray that held an ice cream sundae.

"Don't worry. This is a good thing," Lyle promised, taking the tray from the sweeper as he handed him the tube of diagrams. "There is nothing in this treat but vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream and cherries. No drugs and, of course, no nuts. I know they don't agree with you."

Moving in front of Jarod, he slid the tray across the arms of the wheel chair. "Dig in."

When the man did not obey the command instantly, his attention still on Willie and the blueprints, Lyle slid his hand under Jarod's chin. Bringing the dark, confused eyes on him, he smiled.

"It's all right," he promised as Willie stepped from the room. "You did the right thing. I am sure, once he realizes what you've done for him, Adam will thank you. Now, eat up. Claire is waiting."

* * *

"Mom, it will be fine," Emily promised. "Miss Parker and I are just going to check the beach and bike path. We'll be back in less than an hour." 

"And what about your father? When will he be back?" Margaret hissed. Glancing at the young man sleeping in the bed, she rose from her chair and moved to the door, where her daughter was standing. "I don't like that he left with Sydney without, at least, checking in with me."

"I know," Emily nodded. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she sighed. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Margaret turned away to watch Adam shift positions in his sleep. "I'm just worried."

"Mom, I promise, we won't be gone long. Broots and Debbie are in the next room, if you need anything."

"I need my family," she murmured, her eyes still trained on her youngest son.

Unsure of a response, Emily backed out of the room, closing the door as she moved. She understood how her mother felt. It felt as if their family were being ripped apart, again, and it angered her. After all the years they'd spent searching for each other, it wasn't fair that they be separated after having only a year together.

"Is everything all right?"

Emily shook her head slowly, then turned toward the man standing behind her. Seeing the worry on his face, she forced a smile and patted the technician's arm. "But, it will be."

Glancing over her shoulder, at the closed door, Broots swallowed hard and asked, "Can I do anything to help, while you're gone?"

Moving around the man, she shook her head. "There are only three things any of us can do, right now, Broots. The first is to keep Adam safe, the second is to find Jarod, and the third is to not lose anyone else in the process."

At a loss for words, the balding man nodded and silently followed the woman down the hall.

"Where's Miss Parker?" Emily asked as they stepped into the foyer.

"She left for the bike path a few minutes ago. She said to tell you to call her on your cell phone, if you find any sign of Jarod on the beach."

"And Debbie?"

"She's in Jarod's room, hacking into the files on Jarod's computer."

"She can do that?"

"She's my daughter," he smiled. When Emily blushed, he added, "While Debbie tries to piece together what Jarod might have been working on, I'll be at my computer, searching for information about the murder victims. If we find anything important, we'll call you."

Nodding, Emily started across the house. When she reached the French doors that led to the deck, she turned and faced the man. "Thank you."

* * *

They were trespassers. They had walked into the building as if they belonged, taken the elevator to the sixth floor and waited until the hall was clear before moving to the door that held Philip Kelly's name. And, despite the time they had spent going over the man's personal and professional records, they'd found nothing to help them locate Jarod. 

Sydney closed the filing cabinet and shook his head. "There's nothing here except files dated more than a year ago."

Rising from the desk, Major Charles frowned. "How is this possible? The man has been treating Jarod for several months. He must have been keeping notes about their sessions."

"I agree," Sydney nodded, crossing to where the Major stood. "The only explanation, I can create, is that Dr. Kelly was seeing Jarod somewhere other than this office."

"Where?"

"I don't know," the psychiatrist replied, picking up a small address book from the edge of the desk. "Was there anything in here? Any indication of other patients?"

Major Charles shook his head. "Not that I could tell, but I thought we'd take it back to the house and compare it to Jarod's book. Maybe one, or more, of the entries will match."

Sydney nodded in agreement. Handing the book back to the Major, he turned in place, studying the office. It was perfect. Certificates hung proudly behind the wall. Reference books lined the shelves. Personal photos were displayed on the desk. Office supplies, computer equipment, and even a model of the human brain, all sat where they were expected to be.

"We're missing something," he sighed, his eyes glancing along the desk.

"I know."

His eyes followed the lines of the desk, glancing over the computer keyboard and cup of writing instruments to where the multi-line telephone sat. Curious, he lifted the handset and brought it to his ear.

"Is it dead?" the Major asked, hopefully.

Placing the receiver back in its cradle, Sydney shook his head. "There is dial tone."

"I was hoping . . ."

"So was I. As much as I hate to admit it, Major, I was hoping that we were going to find this office was a decoy."

"Maybe we can have Broots run a check on the phone records," he offered, reaching for his cell phone, "and find out who Philip Kelly has contacted. In the meantime, let's try one more thing."

Sydney watched as Jarod's father quickly punched out a sequence of numbers. An instant later, the telephone on the desk let out one ring and then fell silent. The Major frowned but did not disconnect the call for a few more seconds.

"What happened?" Sydney asked, as the other man began dialing another number..

"The call was transferred. I got a recording."

"Voice mail?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so," he said. "It sounded like an answering machine."

"Who are you calling now?"

"I have a friend who has a daughter at the local telephone company. Maybe she can find out where the calls are being forwarded to."

* * *

By the time Miss Parker reached the parking lot, the sun had peaked and started its evening descent, and had no more than two hours left in the sky. Though hers was the only car in the lot, she fought the instinct to assume he wasn't on the path and pulled her bicycle from its rack. She learned, a long time ago, never to assume anything when it came to Jarod. 

As Miss Parker pedaled down the dirt path, her eyes scanned her silent surroundings. If it were another time, she might allow herself to relax but, for now, she needed to stay alert. It still bothered her that, of all the paths in the area, Jarod had decided to frequent this particular one. As the cabin came into view, her heart began to race, and she knew it had nothing to do with the aerobic workout she was giving her body.

Coming to a stop at the side of the path, she stared at the structure. Having believed the cabin was deserted, she was surprised by the fact that the door to the attached garage was open, revealing a dark sedan, and lights glowed from behind the drawn curtains. She frowned as her curiosity about the cabin's occupants began to grow. If it hadn't been for the ring of her cell phone, she would have given in to the nagging urge to take a closer look. Instead, she told herself they had nothing to do with Jarod's disappearance and answered the incoming call with a determined, "What?"

"Miss Parker, I found something," Broots replied, excitedly. "I found Jarod. I was doing what you asked. I was scanning the police department files for information on the murder and I decided to take a look at the tapes of security cameras in the vicinity of the murders."

"How can you do that?"

"They're downloaded onto the police database. I had to hack through a lot of firewalls, but they weren't that difficult. Someone should tell them how vulnerable their security is because, if I can do it . . ."

"Sorry I asked. I obviously gave you the impression I was interested in community responsibility," she snapped. "Just tell me what you found. Did you see the killer?"

"Um, no, I actually didn't see anything relevant to the murders."

"Then why the hell are we having this conversation?"

"Because, well, I decided to tap into the same cameras and get a live feed." He shrugged, though he knew she couldn't see him. "It was just a hunch. I thought I might see something and - well - I did. I saw Jarod going into a hotel across from where the first victim was found."

Getting on her bike, she forgot about the cabin and started toward the parking lot. "I need specifics, Broots."

Without hesitation, he recited the address.

"That hotel is about fifteen minutes from here," she muttered. "How long ago did Jarod go in?"

"Only a few minutes ago, but here's something else you should know, Miss Parker. Jarod was in a wheelchair and he wasn't alone."

Bringing the bicycle to a stop at the rear of her car, she held her breath, waiting for the technician to continue.

"He was with Lyle and Claire."

"I'm not surprised," she admitted. "I was afraid they'd gotten their hands on him. What about sweepers?"

"None in sight."

Miss Parker raised an eyebrow and frowned. "That's not a good sign. Lyle and Claire must think he can control Jarod on his own."

"I couldn't get a close enough look to see if he was strapped to the chair," the man confessed. "But, I could see he was wearing dark wraparound sunglasses and he appeared to be alert."

"Okay. Keep a close eye on that hotel. I want to know if any of them leave or if anyone else you recognize shows up. I'll call you when I get there."

"What about his family?" he asked. "What should I tell them?"

"Not a word. Emily won't be back for at least another twenty minutes. I'll be at the hotel by then and we'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with. For now, this is just between the two of us. Is that clear?"

* * *

The journey from the ship to the hotel took almost forty minutes and, during that time, Lyle allowed Jarod to rest. He left the man bound to the wheelchair, in the back of the van Claire had used to transport the boy, while he sat in the front with the woman. Periodically, he glanced at the Pretender and smiled. Having fully dilated the man's pupils after strapping him in the van, he knew the dark sunglasses were actually causing Jarod some distress. 

The Pretender knew that, if he tried to remove the glasses which were too dark to see through, under normal circumstances, the California sun would blind him. Even after they arrived at the hotel, Jarod had no choice but to leave the glasses in place.

While, the Pretender sat in stony silence, his hands and lower body hidden from those around him by a thick blanket, Lyle pushed the chair through the lobby. With one hand tightly pressed against the back of Jarod's neck, he warned the man against uttering a sound, even when he was spoken to by a concerned passerby.

Ushering the stranger away, Claire murmured a soft lie to the woman that Jarod was under heavy sedation for his pain. When she was asked how Jarod had been injured, Lyle found himself impressed by his coconspirator's acting ability. The tears and trembling that emerged as she appeared to struggle with the memory of a horrible accident was more than enough to send the nosy woman away, leaving a string of apologies in her wake.

"That was an impressive act," he said, when they were alone in the elevator.

Claire grinned at the only bit of praise she knew she would receive from Lyle, and slid her hand possessively onto Jarod's shoulder. Leaning close to the bound man's ear, she said, loud enough for Lyle to hear, "But, not as impressive as the acts we're going to perform together. Right, Hon?"

For no other reason than he knew it would anger the Pretender, Lyle added pressure to the man's neck. "The polite thing to do is tell her you're looking forward to it," he chastised. "Tell her."

As the elevator came to a stop, Jarod did as he was ordered, replying in a stiff, angry voice.

"That's okay, Hon," Claire murmured, stroking his hair. "You don't have to mean it, this time."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer in part 1

A/N: This is much shorter than I intended but RL has interefered. I do have much of the next chapter written so, with any luck, it will be up very soon. In any case - thanks for reading!

Survival II - Retribution  
by imagine

Part 14?

Adam bolted upright, his arms protectively crossed in front of him while his lungs gulped in large quantities of the air. His eyes were open, darting from side to side in a state of panic. Deep down, he knew he was in his own room and he knew he was safe. At that moment, however, everything in the darkened room was unfamiliar. When the mattress dipped to the right, Adam moved to the left, desperate to put distance between him and the newcomer.

"Baby, it's all right."

The words were soft and, as soon as they were spoken, the tension drained from his body.

"I'm right here. It was just another nightmare."

Seemingly oblivious to the trembling that had taken control of the young man, Margaret slid her hands over his and gently coaxed him closer. Tired, embarrassed and still filled with a fear he did not want to admit, Adam complied. Slowly, but eagerly, he closed the distance between them.

"It was so real."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around him and softly kissed his forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Two hours," Margaret replied as he pulled back. Retrieving a bottle of water from the table at the side of the bed, she held it out to him and waited while the boy took a long swallow. Her hand slid across his damp hair and down the side of his face, wiping away the traces of sweat that still adhered to his skin.

"Two hours," Adam repeated, softly.

Taking the water from him, Margaret smiled and squeezed his hand. "Look on the bright side, it was twenty minutes longer than the last time."

Nodding absently, Adam drew his hand away from his mother and slid his legs over the side of the bed. When he was sitting, with his head lowered, he released a heavy sigh and began massaging the muscle at the back of his neck.

"Are you hungry?"

Without looking up, he shook his head.

She hesitated, then asked, "Do you want to talk? Do you want to tell me about the nightmare?"

Silently, Adam shook his head again.

When he felt the mattress shift, he watched his mother cross to the bureau on the other side of the room. Still holding the water, she looked at the closed door that lead to the rest of the house, then at the bottle again, before placing the object on the edge of the furniture.

"_It took them almost a year, but Margaret and the Major now recognize that they can never offer you what you need." _

"Don't go," he whispered. When the woman faced him, the teen mistook her confusion for irritation and added, "I'm sorry. Please, don't be angry."

Returning to his side, Margaret blinked back the tears that were welling in her eyes. His voice and face were filled with such panic, she felt her own emotions begin to shred but forced herself to keep the tone of her voice calm and soft. "I'm not angry with you, Baby, and I'm not going anywhere. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here to listen and to help you. You're my son."

Before Adam realized the thought had formed in his head, he heard himself murmur, "I'm not Jarod."

Though she was startled by the words as he was, Margaret kept her expression neutral. When the boy's eyes darted across her face, filled with dread, she took his hand.

"I know who you are, Adam," she told him. Sliding her free hand under his chin, she raised his eyes to hers. "You are my son and I love you more than you can imagine."

"Why?"

She smiled but did not release her hold on him. "Because you're a complex young man, filled with contradictions. I love a puzzle."

He looked at her, his head cocked curiously to one side, but did not smile.

Margaret sighed and shook her head. "You can be the more serious and focused than men twice your age but I've never seen anyone so filled with joy and so quick with a joke. And, though I haven't seen it in a few days, your smile is the kind that infects those around you, even strangers."

"Mom . . ."

Shaking her head at his interruption, she winked at him and continued, "You're a patient man, and will forgive anyone's faults but your own. Your stubbornness about silly things like the length of your hair and whether or not you need to shave drives me insane but you never fail to keep your room spotless. You're a fanatic when it comes toexcercise, but you can't play a board or card game without eating a dozen Snickers bars. You have temper tantrums, fewer now than when we first became a family,but you are never let it get the best of you. Even at your worst, you've always managed to keep enough control that you refrain from hurting anyone, physically or verbally. You. . ."

Margaret fell silent when Adam held up his hand. He looked at her, opened his mouth to speak then shook his head and turned away.

"I'm not done, you know," she grinned. When Adam did not return the smile, Margaret whispered, "You are my son. I love you and I'm proud of the man you're becoming. You're intelligent, naive, handsome, social, charming, awkward and serious all at once. There is no one like you in the world, Adam. Not even Jarod."

The boy wiped his face and took a deep, shuddered breath. When his mother's arm slid across his back, he resisted the urge to look at her, choosing to stare at his clasped fingers instead.

His life with Mr. Raines had not included soft touches, reassurance or sympathetic gestures. For the good of his simulations, and with the assistance of corporal punishment, he had been taught to suppress his emotions. Life at the Centre was simple. There were no decisions, no emotions, no choices. All he had to do was follow the rules. As long as he did was he was told, he was not hurt. As long as he didn't question those around him, or repeat what he heard, he was allowed to stay in their presence and granted a brief refuge from the silence of his cell.

Since his rescue, however, his family had introduced him to a way of life he had never had the courage to imagine. They talked to him, not at him, or around him; they welcomed his opinion, but did not demand it; they taught him, but did not belittle him. They always made him feel safe.

As wonderful as it was, though, his new world was such a brilliant contrast to the one he had known since birth that it frightened him. Most times, he could overcome his fears and accept the kindness and smiles for what they were - love. Other times, like now, when he felt so completely insecure that his hands trembled and his gut ached, that he wondered if he was never meant for a life outside the Centre walls.

"_The Centre is your real home and it's where you belong, Hon."_

Seeing her son's distress, Margaret slid her arms around the young man. She wanted to promise him that everything would be all right, but the words would not come. This was not the same, strong, confident boy who had left her house for a concert four days ago. Claire and Lyle had hurt him, confused him and made him doubt where he belonged in the world. Adam needed more than words if he was going to recover and she had every intention of providing it to him.

Pulling him close, she silently urged him to shift in his arms. Slowly, Adam rested his head on her shoulder, and wrapped his arms around her waist, but his muscles remained taut. Margaret swallowed her tears and tightened her hold.

* * *

Jarod did not resist when Lyle pulled him from the wheelchair. Despite the fact his eyes were still dilated, making the layout of his new surroundings a mystery, Jarod's urge to struggle was strong. The only thing that kept him compliant was Lyle's threat against Adam, which was still painfully fresh in his mind.

"Where are you taking him?"

Lyle increased the pressure on Jarod's arm and, immediately, the Pretender came to a halt.

"I'm taking him to the bedroom. That is where you want him, isn't it?"

Claire moved in front of the men and shook her head. "I thought we'd talk first."

"So I won't gag him."

"I want to talk with you, _about _him," she snapped.

"So, talk," he replied, pushing Jarod to the side.

Unprepared, the Pretender stumbled over a shallow step leading to the bedroom. Though he managed to shield his eyes, when the glasses fell from his face, Jarod landed at an awkward angle across the steps. He swallowed the scream but was unable to hide his discomfort. Without realizing he was doing so, Jarod pulled his knees to his chest.

"Don't move, unless you want to hurt yourself even more," Lyle ordered.

Claire saw Jarod tense and, though his facial expression reflected his anger, she heard no word of protest from the man. Even more startling to her, the Pretender obeyed the command. Suddenly, the woman was more curious about the captive than she was about Lyle's agenda.

"He seems to be more obedient than he was on the ship," she said, moving to stand over the man huddled on the floor.

"He's being a hero. It's one of his faults. He thinks if he cooperates, he can change Gemini's fate."

"I see," she nodded, glancing at Lyle as he stepped beside her. "So, you told him about our agreement and he knows the boy is scheduled to be returned to the Centre."

"With Jarod, it is always better to lay your cards on the table," he explained. "What you're seeing here, is his attempt at negotiations. By cooperating, he's hoping we'll leave the boy alone."

Turning her attention on Jarod, she crouched beside the downed man and carefully slid the sunglasses back into place. "You did this same thing last year, didn't you, Hon? You sacrificed your own well-being for the sake of someone else. Except, if I remember correctly, you were Emily's champion."

Her hand moved his back and began long, soft strokes across his spine. His muscles rippled with tension and the tempo of his heart increased the moment he felt her touch.

"I suppose I could understand your protectiveness toward your sister, despite the fact she was a total stranger. But, the boy is nothing to you."

"**_Adam_** is my brother," he growled. Though she knew he couldn't see more than vague shadows, when Jarod turned his eyes toward her, Claire felt herself shiver.

"**_Gemini _**is a creation of the Centre. He was not born into your family." She rose to her feet and stood over him, her arms folded across her chest. "He is your clone, Hon, not your family. You may have a soft spot for him, but he is not your responsibility. You owe him nothing."

"That's where you're wrong." Once again turning toward the woman, Jarod replied in a deep voice, "The Centre stole a piece of me to bring Adam into this world. He has a life because of me, not the Centre. I am responsible for his well being. Adam will receive the love, confidence and sense of security he needs to survive. I will see to it."

"How sweet," she purred. "But, Gemini belongs to the Centre and you officially belong to Lyle. So, you see, your sense of obligation to the boy means nothing."

"Don't bet on it."

* * *

He ran his hand along the sleeping woman's hairline, smoothing back the matted red locks that hid the purplish bruises on her forehead and cheeks. She stirred at his touch, and a soft moan of protest escaped her cracked lips, but the woman did not open her eyes.

"Rest," he told her. "I am not going to hurt you."

The doctor slid the zipper of her sweatshirt jacket as high on its track as possible. Then, taking her hands in his, he pushed the sleeves of the jacket to her elbow and inspected the woman's injuries.

Her hands and fingernails were dirty, embedded with sand, blood and trace amounts of the blanket that had been wrapped around her. The skin around her wrists was shredded, leaving raw open wounds where the ropes had once been. At the center of the large bruise on her left arm, he found the point Lyle had punctured the skin with a needle.

"_Has anyone reported her missing, yet?"_

"_One of her co-workers contacted the police this afternoon."_

"_And her family?"_

"_They're flying in, as we speak."_

"_The more the merrier. You're sure she did not see you?"_

"_No," he sighed. "She never regained full consciousness - never opened her eyes."_

"_Excellent. Jarod and I will be there in a few hours. In the meantime, keep her isolated."_

Reaching into the basin, Philip retrieved a soft wet cloth and slowly began to dress the injuries. He stared at the woman, wondering what role she played in Lyle's plan and how long she would be kept alive. Despite his curiosity, though, the doctor realized he was not concerned about the girl.

Running the cloth along her face, he thought about his work with Jarod and looked around the small chamber. Less than a year ago, in this very room, he had begun the treatments that brought the Pretender to a point of submissiveness the Centre had never accomplished. As a result, Jarod would now willingly respond to commands that, in the past, he would have defiantly refused at all costs. Though he admitted that there were still orders Jarod resisted, it angered Philip that Lyle considered the progress minimal. The Chairman's son was so eager for more, he was willing to risk destroying everything rather than wait until Jarod's subconscious had been properly conditioned.

"_Where is he?"_

"_Jarod is taking care of some business. You will see him soon."_

"_In what condition? If he is in his hypnotic state," the doctor pressed, "you must fill in the time period for him when he is done. You cannot continue to leave large blanks in his memory. It will eventually drive him mad."_

"_Is that so? Now, that might actually be fun to watch."_

"_You would be sacrificing the project," he warned. "You need Jarod."_

_Lyle's laugh was deep and sincere. "That's where you're wrong. You see, Philip, when Jarod outlives his usefulness, I have a spare."_

Unwilling to consider what Lyle had meant, Philip shook his head and brought himself back to the present. Dipping the cloth into the basin again, he sat closer to the woman and gently began stroking her wrist.

* * *

Emily paced the length of the porch, her arms wrapped around her as she watched the road. The gentle breeze that caressed her skin seemed cold and the shadows were now longer than she wanted to admit.

"Are you all right?"

Turning, she found Debbie standing at the door and, forcing a smile, Emily nodded. "I thought you were hacking into Jarod's computer, searching for clues."

"I was," the girl admitted, watching as Emily turned her eyes back on the road. "But I decided to take a break. Is it okay if I'm here, or do you want to be alone?"

Emily leaned against the porch railing and shrugged. "You can stay."

Biting her lower lip, Debbie looked over her shoulder to where her father was diligently huddled over his computer. Engrossed in his work, he had not heard her when she called to him, nor had he looked up when she moved through the living room, toward the front door. She watched him a moment longer, then, closed the door behind her.

"So, can you tell me what you found?" Emily urged, drawing her eyes from the road to the girl. "What is my brother hiding in his computer?"

"He's developed a very intricate security system around most of his files," she replied. "But I think he was trying to figure out who paid for the airline tickets Claire sent your parents."

Emily nodded and moved to the stairs, lowering herself to the top step. "He told us, on the way to pick up Adam, that he had begun that process. He said it was very complicated and that he would finish it, once Adam was safe."

"Well, that's one less thing he has to do, when he comes home. I traced the credit card payment for the airline tickets to a woman named Jillian Kincade."

Emily considered the teen's words and frowned. "You're sure they weren't paid for by Claire, or Lyle?"

"Positive," Debbie sighed, leaning against the porch railing. "The transaction was rather complicated - false credit cards, names, addresses - so it took some time to sort it out. But, in the end, I confirmed the payment came from Jillian's Visa."

"Great," Emily muttered, shaking her head.. "So, who is Jillian Kincade?"

Debbie shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. All I can tell you is that the card was from one of those companies that makes special offers to students and that, if her billing address is real, she lives about thirty minutes from here."

Jarod's sister stared at the girl for a moment. Then, pulling herself to her feet, she wiped the dust from her jeans and headed into the house.

"Where are you going?"

"Break time is over. I want everything you've found about this woman and, then, I want you to find more."

* * *

Miss Parker found a parking space in front of the building and quickly dialed Broots' number. Due to traffic, her trip from the bicycle path to the motel had taken an hour - more than double what it should have taken - and she was, to say the least, antsy. When the technician answered on the third ring, she was already out of the car and half way to the entrance of the hotel.

"It's me," she said.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the image of her on the monitor and nodded as if she could see him. "I did what you asked. I tapped into the hotel's security system."

"And?"

"Claire is in room 1605. As far as I can tell, she and Jarod are alone. Lyle came down to the lobby about ten minutes ago."

Frowning, she glanced toward the back of the building. "What is he doing?"

"He's in the bar. The waitress just brought him his drink," he relayed. "Judging by her grin, it looks like he gave her a big tip."

"Not exactly the info I was looking for," she drawled. Then, after waiting a heartbeat, asked, "Can Mr. Wonderful see the front desk, or the elevators, from where he is sitting?"

"No."

"What about the Sweepers?" she asked, continuing toward the front entrance. "Have any of them shown up?"

"I didn't see any but the hotel doesn't have security cameras in the guest rooms. It is possible they were already inside when Jarod arrived."

She considered his theory for a split second then shook her head. "Not likely. After everything he's done to get his hands on Jarod, Lyle would not leave him alone with Claire, if there was the slightest possibility of her sneaking off with him. If she had Sweepers with her, she'd have an advantage, and Lyle wouldn't be trolling in the bar. Did you do everything I asked?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but I don't understand . . ."

"You don't need to understand," she told him, moving through the glass revolving doors. "Just keep your eye on Lyle. I'll be in touch, as soon as I have Jarod."

"Wait! What do I tell the others?"

"Nothing. If you haven't heard from me in twenty minutes, you can tell the Major where I am. In the meantime . . ."

"Twenty minutes? I don't know if I can keep this to myself that long," the man protested. "You nave no idea how worried everyone is about Jarod."

"I have a very good idea of how worried they are," she hissed. "But, right now, they're better off where they are - with Adam. He needs them more than Jarod does."

Disconnecting the call before the technician could protest, she strode up to the desk and smiled her most disarming of smiles.

* * *

Before Margaret was ready to release him, Adam drew his body from hers and wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath and, without looking at his mother, stood and crossed to the attached bath.

She watched him disappear into the smaller room, then sighed and turned toward the sliding doors that led from Adam's room to the side of the house. Rising from the bed, she opened the vertical blinds and stared at the high grass that decorated the area beyond the patio. She knew how much Adam loved this room but, at that moment, all she could see was how vulnerable he was in it. Set at the end of the house, no one would hear him if he called out for help.

Her eyes slid to the wires that ran along the window and she took a deep breath. She knew Jarod had taken great pains to make sure the house was secure and, though she did not doubt her oldest child's abilities, Margaret made the decision that she would not leave Adam alone until they were sure the threat of Lyle and Claire was over. Raising her eyes, she was looking at the silhouette of the mountains in the distance when her son's face appeared as a reflection in the glass.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, facing him.

Adam's face and neck were damp, and his hair combed back away from his forehead. His nod was slight but she saw it and smiled.

"How about an early dinner?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his. "I'll make you anything you want."

"I'm not hungry."

She frowned and tightened her hold on his arm, preventing him from pulling away. "Well, I am. Why don't you come into the kitchen and keep me company?"

He glanced at the door then shook his head. "I'd rather stay here. I'm tired."

"You've been cooped up in this room for too long," she told him, gently. "We're just going to the kitchen. After we've eaten, you can come back and try to take another nap. I promise."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Adam shot a quick look at the closed door then over his shoulder at the view of the sand and grass outside his room. When he brought his eyes back to his mother, he nodded.

* * *

Miss Parker exited the elevator on the fourteenth floor and stepped into the stairway. Taking the steps two at a time, she climbed the remaining two stories and glanced at her watch. She had fifteen minutes before Broots announced her location to the others at the beach house. Though she did not doubt the Major and his family were capable of a rescue operation, her instincts told her they needed to be with Adam. For everyone's sake, she hoped she was right.

The fact that there was no guard posted in the hall was surprising but Miss Parker did not allow herself time to dwell on the possible explanations. She waited in the stairwell, watching a family of tourists exit room 1601 before stepping into the hall. Moving close to the door leading to Claire's room, she carefully and expertly manipulated the lock until it swung silently inward.

With her gun drawn and its silencer in place, the brunette methodically searched the living room , the kitchen, and balcony. Other than an abandoned wheelchair, she found no sign of Claire or Jarod, and crossed over the shallow steps that led to the bedroom. As her hand wrapped around the doorknob, a cell phone sounded from inside. Leaning closer, she listened as a tired, muffled voice answered the call but was unable to make out the words or identify the speaker. When the room became silent, she pushed at the door, only to discover it was locked. Frustrated, Miss Parker took a step back, pointed her gun at the latch and blew it to shreds.

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer in part 1

**Survival II - Retribution**  
by imagine

part 15

The door shattered behind him and Jarod stumbled, twisting toward the sound and instantly losing his balance. As he fell against the wall, she entered with her gun held straight in front of her. Her body was taut and her blue eyes were darting around the room, seeming to take everything in at once. He stared at the woman for a heartbeat, then straightened himself and took a deep breath.

"That was quite an entrance," he muttered, crossing his arms. "But you can put the gun away. We're alone."

Ignoring him, Miss Parker kept the weapon raised and quickly moved into the attached bath. When she returned, Jarod was staring at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Find anything?" he asked, allowing a grin to slide across his face.

"Just you," she retorted, slipping her automatic into its holster, "and I'm already wondering if it was a mistake."

When he did not respond, she looked up at him as sadness flashed in his eyes. He shifted, uncomfortably, causing her to drop her gaze long enough to notice his condition for the first time. Jarod was shirtless and barefoot. The jeans he wore were unzipped and, though the light in the room was dim, she could see that a variety of cuts and bruises decorated his exposed skin.

"Are you all right?" she asked, in lieu of an apology.

Jarod sighed and nodded, though he knew the bruises around his mouth, neck and wrists told a different story.

"How badly are you hurt?"

Desperate to distract the woman from his injuries, he turned away and motioned toward the woman in the bed. "She's in much worse shape than I am."

Staring blindly at the ceiling, Claire was tucked among the mounds of sheets, blankets and pillows that adorned the California King. The T-shirt she wore was pulled to her chest exposing multiple bruises and open wounds below her waist. One knee disappeared under a crumpled sheet, the other was exposed, but blood stained the insides of both thighs. Her arms were stretched over her head. Even from where she stood, Miss Parker could see the woman's wrists were shredded and bleeding from the telephone cord that anchored her to the headboard.

* * *

When Adam and Margaret reached the foyer, the technician looked up from his spot at the dining room table. Standing, the man smiled and moved a few steps closer as he watched them cross the living room.

Adam hesitated then reached out to shake the other man's hand. "I didn't know you were here."

Broots glanced nervously at Margaret then looked back at the young man. "Debbie and I arrived this morning, with Sydney."

"Debbie and Sydney are here, too?"

"Um, yeah. Debbie is with Emily, in Jarod's room. Sydney is . . ."

"Sydney and your father are running an errand. They'll be back soon," Margaret interrupted.

Adam nodded, accepting his mother's statement. Bringing his attention back to Broots, he asked, quietly, "I don't mean to be rude but, what are you all doing here?"

"They came to make sure you were all right," Margaret replied. Adam's quizzical expression caused her to add, "Claire used your cell phone when she called us. Mr. Broots triangulated the signal during her second call. If he hadn't been able to do that, to pinpoint the area where you were being kept, Emily, Jarod and Miss Parker wouldn't have known where to look for you."

Silently thinking that it was a good thing Claire had not used different phones, Adam turned away from his mother. Smiling weakly, he looked at Broots and said, "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," the man replied. "I'm just sorry we didn't find you sooner."

"I was only gone a few days," he answered, forcing a brave tone. "I'll be fine."

"Of course you will," Margaret replied. "You're like your brother and sister - strong and determined."

Though he doubted he was as strong as Jarod, or as determined as Emily, Adam nodded mutely.

"When your friend Jack called, to tell us you'd been taken," Margaret continued, solemnly, "your father and I thought . . ."

"Jack," he whispered, suddenly remembering the events at the concert. Anxiously, his eyes met his mother's, not realizing that his change in demeanor had interrupted her. "Mom, are they all right? Mel, Jack, and Steph - Claire didn't hurt them, did she?"

"Baby, it's all right. Your friends are fine and, I promise, they are not in any danger."

His mother's promise relaxed him but, as his anxiousness faded, a new realization came to light for Adam. "I'm never going to see any of them again, am I?"

"Never say never. Someday, we'll go back," she said, brushing a hair from his face. "But, for now, it's better for everyone if we stay away."

He quietly agreed but, for Adam, nothing that was happening was acceptable. Knowing that he could never see his friends again was more painful than he could have imagined. The house in Chicago would, forever, be the place he considered home because it was there that he felt like the member of a family, for the first time. Though he could have lived without shoveling snow and wearing four layers of clothing in January, he would miss the hockey games with Jack. And, while the heat and humidity of July could be suffocating, they gave him the opportunity to lay in the sand at Oak Street Beach with Mel.

"I'd like to talk to them," he said, slowly bringing his gaze to hers. "I need to tell them I'm not coming home. I need to say goodbye."

"Of course. But, let's give it a day or so. You can call as soon as you're feeling a little stronger."

It was the thought of losing Mel that disturbed him the most. She was his girlfriend and he had no intention of giving her up so abruptly. He knew she had a sister living somewhere on the West Coast and, as the thought occurred to him, Adam made the decision to locate her. He told himself that, if there was even a remote possibility he could keep in contact with Mel, through her sister, he needed to try. Then, frowning, he wondered if he was being selfish.

* * *

"The body is still warm," he offered, as Miss Parker took a step closer to the mattress, "but she's dead. Judging by body temperature, I'd say it happened fairly recently."

"**_How_** recently?"

"Maybe half an hour."

Leaving her at the bed, Jarod retrieved his T-shirt from the floor. The act of sliding the garment over his head and shoulders made him wince but a quick glance at Miss Parker assured him that she had no intention of pursuing a discussion about his injuries.

"Tell me what happened."

Jarod shook his head. "I honestly don't know. I... woke up... beside her and she wasn't moving."

"You were in bed with her?" she asked, looking up at him.

He nodded but said nothing. He was confident that he would eventually piece things together but, at that moment, the only thing he remembered clearly was waking up beside Claire. His right hand was nestled beneath her T-shirt, cupping a breast, and his left hand was tangled in her hair. The discovery had been so startling that, at first, he had not comprehended the fact the woman was dead. It wasn't until after he jerked his hand away and Claire had not reacted that Jarod realized there was no heartbeat beneath his fingers.

As much as he told himself to do otherwise, he could not bring himself to share this information with the brunette standing beside him. Admitting to himself that he had a memory loss was one thing; broadcasting it and becoming an object of pity was another.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Averting his gaze, Jarod murmured that he was fine though he knew she did not believe him. Despite their bickering and feuds, he and Miss Parker had a unique relationship. They knew each other better than anyone, including Sydney and their families. With a shake of his head, he wondered if that innate knowledge was the reason their friendship never blossomed into anything more.

"Okay, so what happened when you woke up?"

"I thought she was asleep and that I'd been given the opportunity to escape," he said, glancing at the brunette before looking back at the corpse. "My jeans were at the foot of the bed. I pulled them on and started for the door but, by the time I got to where you were standing, I realized she was not breathing."

Miss Parker said nothing as she stared at Jarod's profile. He spoke in an unnaturally soft and monotone voice, his dark eyes focused on the far side of the bed. In his mind, Jarod was reliving the moments as he told her how they had unfolded.

"I touched her leg. It was still warm but there was no pulse in her ankle so I moved to the head of the bed. I was checking for a pulse in her neck when you . . . made your entrance."

Miss Parker frowned and nodded as she moved around him, her eyes searching the mattress and floor. "How did she die?"

"It appears that she was sexually assaulted," he said, in his most neutral of voices. "But, based on the bruising around her mouth and neck, I'd say the cause of death was suffocation."

She looked up at him, unsure of whether she should point out that Rose Barber, Jennifer Forrest and Susan Pearce had died the same way. When Jarod moved to a nearby chair and rested his head in his palms, she swallowed the observation.

He knew.

* * *

"Is Jarod with Emily and Debbie?" he asked, after a few seconds of silence. "I think I'd like to talk to him."

Margaret stiffened and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Baby, Jarod isn't here right now."

"Is he with Dad?"

"No, but he'll be back soon."

Unsure why his mother was being evasive, and unwilling to question her, Adam turned away and reached for the framed photo on the end table. He stared at it, absently wiping the smudges from the glass protecting the photo.

"My visit with Jarod seems so long ago."

Margaret slid her hand down the young man's back. "Two months is a long time."

"I suppose," he sighed

"Jarod told me about the day that photo was taken," she said. "He told me how you convinced him that if he returned to view the painting that triggered his earlier panic attack, the flashbacks might become less debilitating. He also told me that, if you hadn't gone with him for moral support, he wasn't sure he could have done it on his own."

"I don't know how my presence could have helped Jarod. I was just as scared as he was that day." He chewed his lip a moment then looked at his mother only long enough to admit, "I was terrified that, if I was wrong, things would get worse for him and he would never forgive me."

"_This is Jarod's brand of justice. He wants you to experience the same horrors he did."_

"Baby, Jarod knew you were trying to help and that, ultimately, it was his decision. Even if things had gone badly, he would never have held you responsible. He knows you wouldn't hurt him any more than he would intentionally hurt you."

_Though he was sure it was not due to the chill in the air, the Pretender removed his leather jacket and draped it carefully around Adam's shoulders. Then, gently folding his arms around the young man, Jarod brought Adam to his chest._

"_You're safe," he repeated in a raspy whisper. "I will not let anyone hurt you again."_

Adam dropped his eyes back to the photo. His mind and heart were so conflicted at the moment, and he didn't want his mother to see his confusion. He wanted, more than anything, to believe what she was saying and to trust that what Jarod told him on the ship was true. If they were all lying to him - if Lyle and Claire were right - Adam honestly had no idea how he would survive.

"Jarod tried to haggle with the woman who took the picture, but she was firm about the price," he continued, hoping to change the subject. He smiled at the memory but never took his eyes off the photo. "I don't think I've ever seen Jarod so frustrated. Anyway, they argued about it for a minute but he finally gave her the asking price. I guess it helped that the money was going to the University scholarship program but, when she offered to take a second photo, we refused."

"But you have a photo just like this one."

"Jarod made the copy as a surprise," he said, nodding. "He gave it to me the day I left and it's been on my bulletin board at home ever since."

"Actually, it's not there anymore. It's in my bag," she admitted. When Adam looked at her, Margaret added, "When you went missing, I started carrying the picture with me."

"You did? Why?"

"It will probably seem silly," she whispered, "but I needed it. Whenever I imagined the things they might be doing to you, I couldn't function, I couldn't help find you. Having the photo, kept me stronger. I felt like it gave me a connection to you."

Adam stared at his mother. Though he still could not understand how the photo made any difference, the tears welling in her eyes and the cracks in her voice told him his mother's emotions were raw - and just below the surface. For the first time, he considered how she might have reacted when she got the call he had been taken.

"It's not silly," he murmured, sliding his arm around her. "When I got scared, I pictured you because I knew you were looking for me. You were the reason**_ I_** didn't fall apart."

* * *

Miss Parker watched him wrestle with an explanation of Claire's death, but it was clear that he was having difficulty with either running a simulation, or with the results. When he began to pace the width of the bed, his anxiousness became too much for her to watch.

"Let's try this from another angle. What woke you up?" she asked, hoping to redirect his thoughts.

Jarod leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "I don't know."

"Was it the phone that woke you, or were you already awake when it rang?"

He let out a small, but sarcastic laugh and picked up the heavy touch-tone phone from the bed stand. Turning it so she could see it from the back, he pointed at the hole at the base of the phone. "The phone didn't ring, Parker. Its cord was used to tie her to the bed."

"I wasn't referring to **_that_** phone."

Placing the hotel phone back on the bed stand, the Pretender frowned when he saw the object in her hand. He stood and reached for the device but Miss Parker turned away, keeping it out of his grasp.

"Where did you find that?"

"It was under the pillow," she answered.

"It's not mine," he said, eyeing the object.

"I know. It must be Claire's," she answered. Flipping through the files on the cell phone, she sighed before dropping it into her pocket. "Both the incoming and outgoing call logs have been erased. Who did you talk to?"

"I didn't talk to anyone," he insisted. "I didn't even know that phone was in the room."

"Jarod, I heard the damn thing ring and I heard someone answer it."

"Then you must have imagined it."

"The last time I checked - you are the one who has the vivid imagination. I'm the one who has the gun."

"It wasn't me," he insisted, his face becoming as dark as his voice.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't Claire."

When Jarod's only reply was to look back at the dead woman, Miss Parker regretted her words. She saw his shoulders slump and his face tighten with confusion. For the first time since entering the hotel room, she wished Sydney were with her.

"Don't worry about it," she sighed, when he moved closer to the bed. "We'll have Broots access the service provider's database. I'm sure he will be able to pull up the call detail. In the meantime, we need to go. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be found in a room with a dead woman."

* * *

"Elvis!"

Adam turned at the sound of his sister's voice and smiled as she moved from Jarod's room. "I believe I have told you not to call me that."

She shrugged as she approached him. "Several times, actually, and it's really annoying."

The hug that followed was expected and, welcomed. It was no secret that he preferred the company of Emily over just about anyone else, except Mel, and holding her made him feel secure. Despite what Claire had told him, he would never believe that Emily would knowingly lie to him.

"Em?" he whispered, when she held on too long. "Em, what's wrong?"

She shook her head against his shoulder but hesitated before pulling away from him. When she stepped back, she kept one hand gently on his forearm and quickly wiped her eyes with the other. Feeling his eyes on her, Emily forced a small, nervous laugh and murmured, "I've been so worried about you, I didn't realize how much I missed you, until right this moment."

Dropping his hand into hers, Adam pulled his sister back into his arms and, in a voice only she could hear, told her, "I missed you, too."

He flinched when her hand grazed his shoulder and, automatically, Emily pulled away. His face was contorted with pain and, while he tried to take a breath, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side. Carefully, Emily slid back the fabric of his shirt, her eyes widening at the sight of the bruises and cuts.

"These look worse than they did when we brought you home."

"I'm all right," he told her, pulling the shirt back in place. "Thanks to you."

Emily took a deep breath and shook her head. Looking up at the young man who was at least three inches taller than her, she said, "Jarod and Miss Parker knew where to look. They're the ones you should thank."

"They may have found the ship, but it was you who found me in that storage room, Em," he insisted. "If it weren't for you, I don't know what condition I would be in right now."

"If I hadn't found you, Miss Parker and Jarod would have," she promised.

"I know and I'm grateful to them, I really am. But, you were the one . . ."

"Hush." Hugging him again, Emily whispered, "The important thing is that you're home."

"_It's time for you to face the truth, Hon. Emily was running interference, protecting herself. Her motives for involving herself with you are purely selfish."_

"No. The important thing is that you realize how much you did for me," he said, his voice becoming louder and his movements more agitated as he spoke. "Jarod tried. He went through the motions but it was you who kept me calm. It was you who made me feel safe. It was you who stayed with me until Mom and Dad arrived. Even now, Em, you're here and he's . . ."

"Adam, calm down," Margaret said, moving beside her son.

"I don't want to calm down," he replied in a thick voice. "I'm tired. I'm tired of everyone thinking Jarod is responsible for my rescue. Just because he helped me off that ship does not mean he had anything to do with my survival or recovery."

"We don't think . . ."

"Of course you do," he growled at his sister.

"Adam, we know you . . ."

"Jarod and I have the same genetic structure," he continued, ignoring his mother's attempt to interrupt. "We probably have the same thought process and, every day, I look more like him. But, I swear to you, he has not done half as much for me as you have. You have to believe me."

His breaths were coming in quick intervals, tears were rolling freely down his cheeks and he knew he was acting irrationally. But, at that moment, his emotions were flooding his thoughts and he was incapable of being else. He needed Emily to understand how important she was to him. He needed to convince himself that he meant more to her than Claire had insinuated.

Suddenly, frustrated and embarrassed, he flung the picture frame against the wall that ran adjacent to Jarod's room. The frame shattered on impact, sending the photo and the glass that had protected it to the wood floor. Almost immediately, Debbie appeared in the doorway of Jarod's room, her face filled with a combination of curiosity and apprehension.

The sight of the girl made Adam flinch, but he said nothing. Instead, as Debbie bent down to rescue the picture from the shards of glass, the realization of everything he had just done and said forced the young man to take a step back. His dark eyes darted anxiously from one person to the next as he backed away but, before he could go very far, though, he felt his sister's hand slide into his.

"Why don't we go outside?" Emily suggested softly. "Just you and me."

Turning his eyes on his sister, Adam nodded.

* * *

They were silent a moment, watching Emily lead her brother to the porch at the front of the house. As they disappeared through the door, Debbie crossed the room and handed the photo to Margaret.

"It's a little crinkled but it's not ripped or anything," she offered.

Margaret nodded absently as she looked at the picture of her sons.

"I'm going to get the broom and dustpan," the girl added, glancing at her father. "There's a lot of glass."

When Debbie was gone, Margaret raised her eyes to Broots. "I don't understand what set him off."

"He's a teenager," Broots replied with a wry smile, "and he's been through more turmoil in his life than you or I could imagine. I think he's entitled to blow off some steam now and again."

When her eyes traveled to the front door and she took a step forward, the technician moved in front of her. "He's in good hands. Maybe you should let Emily talk to him."

"She's always had a way of calming him down," she said, convincing herself. Then, nodding, she took a deep breath and added, "They're very close."

Debbie returned to the room and, with barley a glance in her father's direction, went to work sweeping the mess into the dustpan. Margaret looked at the girl and smiled, then took a deep breath and faced the man beside her.

"Have you heard from Miss Parker?" Though her eyes continued to dart toward the front door, she moved to the work station Broots had set up on the dining table.

He nodded and reminded himself that if Miss Parker found out he told too much, there would be hell to pay. "She has a lead on Jarod."

"Really? Where?"

"Um, I really couldn't say," he replied, trying to be as vague as possible. Then, glancing at his watch, he said, "but she should be calling back soon."

* * *

"Jarod, we have to go."

_His hands pressed over her mouth and nose while he pushed further inside of the woman. Her eyes remained open, staring at him in fear as she tugged at the restraints that kept her arms over her head. _

His gaze on the body, Jarod took a deep breath and shook his head. "I didn't . . . I don't think I killed . . . her."

She frowned, but said nothing to bring the man's eyes back to her.

"There must have been someone else," he offered, knowing the suggestion was implausible.

"Right now, I don't give a rat's ass **_who_** killed her. She had it coming," Miss Parker replied. When his brows furrowed, she shook her head. "Don't look at me like that. After everything Claire did to you and Adam, you cannot honestly tell me you're sorry she's dead, can you?"

He hesitated then said, "She was a human being, Parker. She didn't deserve . . ."

"You're right, she deserved worse. And, by the way, you took too long to answer the question. When are you going to stop trying to be perfect? Be honest with yourself once in awhile, you'll be amazed how much better you feel."

"At least I have compassion," he growled. "You should try it sometime. The fact that she's dead changes nothing. My family is still in danger. Feeling a little bit of sympathy for the woman costs me nothing."

"Snap out of it, will you? You're needed in the real world," she hissed. "She kept tabs on your sister for Lyle, tormented your parents, andkidnapped your brother. You have no idea what she did to him, or to you, for that matter. All you know is that her motive was to get her hands on the only evidence linking her to Damon. She put your family through hell to save herself from a Triumvirate hearing. It's all right to admit you wanted her dead."

"But, I didn't . . ."

"I didn't say you killed her but, if you had, it would have been justified," she continued, speaking over his interruption.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Maybe not, but we can discuss my shortcomings later. In fact, for your sake, it's probably best if we do it when my automatic isn't so accessible. Right now, we need to concentrate on getting out of here."

He shook his head, turning his eyes back on Claire while he peripherally watched Miss Parker move around the room. "We should call the police."

"What the hell did they do - give you a lobotomy?" she sniped, tossing his shoes at his feet. "The first thing the police will think is that you're responsible."

"We don't know that I'm not," he muttered. Shaking his head, he stepped into the shoes and continued despondently, "If I . . ."

"You didn't do this," she insisted, her voice softening. When he looked at her, she squeezed his hand. "You have to trust me on, Jarod. We'll figure out who is responsible, later. Right now, we need to get you out of here. Claire may be dead but Lyle is very much alive. He's in the lobby bar and could return at any moment."

Jarod's gaze remained on the body as Miss Parker to help him stand. When she tried to lead him toward the door, however, he faced her and held his ground.

"Why are you so sure I'm innocent?"

"Jarod, we don't have time for this!" she bellowed, exasperated. "If I don't call Broots and tell him you're safe, in the next seven minutes, your entire family is going to come here looking for us. Is that what you want?"

Clenching his jaw, Jarod sighed and shook his head.

"Good. Now let's forget about Claire for the moment and get the hell out of here."

Reluctantly, Jarod nodded. "But we're going to talk," he said, firmly. "You're going to answer my questions. Tonight."

"Anything you want, providing you get your ass out of this room," she muttered,"Considering everything we have to discuss, we'll be up all night. Assuming we get out of here before the sun finishes setting."

"_As soon as night falls, Willie and two other men will be dispatched to your home. They will be charged with bringing the boy back to the ship."_

After only a few steps toward the door, Jarod suddenly pulled away from her. Urgently, he spun on his heel and took the few steps required to reach the window. When he pulled back the curtains, the reddish glare of the setting sun made the Pretender flinch and both his hands came up to shield his still dilated eyes.

"Jarod, what's wrong?"

"Adam," he breathed, facing her.

Her attention was so concentrated on the fear she saw in his gaze that, when Jarod spoke his brother's name, she wasn't sure she had heard it. When he repeated the name, more urgently, and tried to move past her, she grabbed his arm.

"What about Adam?"

"Lyle's men - Willie and two others - are going to the beach house as soon as the sun sets."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he snarled. "Lyle told me what he had planned. He made me . . ."

His voice faded but before she could ask him to finish the statement, Jarod grabbed the cell phone from her hand.

"They want Adam," he heaved, trying to punch out the correct sequence of numbers. His hands were trembling so violently, though, that the woman easily snatched the device away. "Their orders are to kill to get him."

"Well, that's just too bad," she snapped. Punching a number on the keypad, Miss Parker pressed the phone to her ear. "The kid has been through enough, I'll be damned if he's going to go through anymore."

* * *

Lyle smiled at the barmaid from across the room and swallowed the last of his Scotch and soda. While she finished serving the only other patron in the bar, he stood and dropped a generous tip on the table. It occurred to him that leaving the woman a gratuity almost equal to the tab may have been extreme, but he didn't care. He needed her to remember him in a favorable light.

"Leaving so soon?" Her eyes glanced at the money then snapped back to his face. Not surprisingly, her smile widened. "Let me get you another drink. I have a break coming up and we can . . ."

"Unfortunately, I have a business appointment," he replied, adding, "but I will take a rain check."

"Which will be redeemed soon, I hope. I enjoyed our conversation."

"Not as much as I did." He moved toward the entrance, stopping behind her as she reached for his empty glass. Pressing his body against hers, he rubbed his hands down her arms and shifted her long dark hair away from her neck. Nuzzling her softly on the shoulder, he said nothing, enjoying the heat that rose from her body before forcing himself to release the woman. When she faced him, he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and murmured, "I really have to leave now - my guest is probably waiting for me in the lobby. But I am looking forward to getting to know you much better."

"You know where to find me."

Without another word, Lyle disappeared into the lobby. As much as he would have liked to continue his dalliance with the willing barmaid, he had more important things to care for.

He had just reached the front desk when he spotted the gray-suited man sitting near the doors. Straightening his jacket and tie, he crossed to the man.

"Detective Stratford?" When the man looked up and nodded, Lyle held out his hand. "Thank you for coming."

"I was told you had information about the murders that have occurred over the past two months," the man replied, rising to his feet.

"Actually, I have more than just information," he answered flatly, "but I would rather not discuss it in such a public place. Why don't we go up to my room? Suite 1605."

* * *

"Miss Parker, I was just about to call you," the technician greeted her. "Lyle is . . ."

"Get out of the house," she hissed. "Get everyone out of the house now."

"Huh?"

"What part of 'get out' did you not understand, you moron? Lyle's men are on their way to the beach house. You . . .."

Unable to restrain himself, Jarod grabbed the cell phone from the woman's hand. "Mr. Broots, we don't have time to explain. Adam's life depends on you getting my family out of that house, now." Then, taking a breath, the Pretender added a small, "Please."

Before Broots could reply, Miss Parker was on the line again. "We're counting on you, Broots. I don't care where you go, just get them all out of there. I'll call you in an hour."

"Okay - but - Miss Parker, you don't have a lot of time either," he warned, glancing at the monitor as Lyle stepped in front of the elevator. "Lyle is on his way to the elevators and he's not alone. You and Jarod need to get out of there."

"What do you mean he's not alone? Are there Sweepers with him?"

"If he is, I've never seen him before."

Glancing at the Pretender, as he turned toward the view of the sinking sun, Miss Parker nodded to herself and said, "We're on our way out. I'll call you in an hour."

He waited until he heard her disconnect the call then faced her again. "I hope we're not too late."

"We're not," she replied. "No more games, Jarod. No more bantering. No more discussions about morality. Broots just told me that Lyle is on his way up and he has an unidentified guest with him. We have to go."

The Pretender nodded and followed the brunette to the door of the bedroom. His entire body ached, though he could not remember why, and his movements were slow. By the time he reached the threshold, his legs felt like they were weighted down and his body was beginning to tremble from exertion. Drops of sweat rolled from his hairline to his jaw. His gut clenched and his breaths became erratic.

"Parker . . ."

She turned as he fell to his knees, just inside the bedroom. With one hand gripping the door frame as support, he looked up at her. The helplessness of his gaze was so powerful that, before she realized she'd moved, Miss Parker was at his side.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Can you stand?"

He shook his head and pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, but said nothing.

Quickly rising to her feet, Miss Parker moved back into the living room and returned with the wheelchair as Jarod fell back into the bedroom. Sitting against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest, he took a deep breath, releasing it in short intervals.

"Stop it. You're going to hyperventilate," she warned.

Almost as rapidly as they appeared, Jarod's symptoms began to subside. She slid her hand under his arm and, without a word, helped the man to his feet while shooting quick glances at the front door. Once Jarod was in the chair she tried to push it out of the room, but, as soon as they reached the threshold, his convulsions began again.

"I can't . . . leave," he said, desperately.

She was about to tell him to get a grip when she was reminded of a similar situation the year before. After shooting Raines, she and Sydney had tried to get Jarod out of the Centre. Even with his father standing beside him, the Pretender had refused to leave because Lyle had ordered him to stay. By the time he was convinced it was all right to leave, Sweepers had turned up on the scene and, fearing for his father's safety, Jarod sacrificed himself and stayed behind.

"Go," he gasped. "Make sure . . . Adam is okay."

Torn between leaving him and doing as he asked, Miss Parker paced a few steps then, shaking her head, moved behind the chair. When she pushed it forward, Jarod's arms spread out, gripping the sides of the door and stopping the chair from moving.

"Parker, you have to go," he moaned, twisting toward her. "There's no time."

"Your family would kill me if I left without you," she told him, firmly, "We're leaving here together."

Then, before the man could reply, Miss Parker struck him on the back of the head with the butt of her gun. With Jarod slumped forward in the chair, she gripped the back of his shirt to hold him in place, and pushed the wheelchair through the door.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Note: Thanks to everyone who is still following this story - and emailing me for updates. I know the chapters have been few and far between lately, but my muse needed to work on something different for awhile. So, hopefully, you will see more regular postings to this story. I appreciate your patience!

Disclaimer in part 1

**Survival II - Retribution**  
by imagine

part 16/?

Despite the fact he was in a wheelchair, transporting the unconscious pretender required much more determination that she realized. However, Miss Parker was up for the challenge. Pulling at the back of the man's collar, she held him against in place with one hand and steered the chair with the other, all the while muttering that he owed her.

She moved the chair through the suite and into the hall then retrieved the keycard she'd received from the desk clerk earlier. Quickly opening the door to the room closest to the stairs, she pushed Jarod inside as the bell on the elevator signaled its arrival. Without taking the time to watch where the chair stopped, she pulled the door closed and stepped into the stairwell.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she pushed her way onto the fifteenth floor. Though she glanced down the hall, to make sure she was alone, her mind did not register her sights until after she broke the protective glass on the case and yanked at the lever. It wasn't until after the fire alarm sounded and she was in the stairwell heading for the sixteenth floor that she wondered if she had been alone in the corridor.

* * *

The alarm sounded the moment they stepped from the elevator. Startled by the noise, both men came to a hesitant halt, their eyes glancing from one flashing strobe to the other. Within a matter of seconds, though, as doors opened and unsure tourists glanced into the hall, Lyle hurried to room 1605.

"What are you doing?"

Lyle pulled himself from the other man's grasp and slid his keycard into the lock. He glared at the Detective then moved into the room, immediately tensing at the sight of the open bedroom door. Without looking, he knew what he would find and made a mental note to punish the Pretender for disobedience while simultaneously altering his plans to fit the current situation.

"Oh, my God," he whispered. "Claire."

He waited until the detective appeared at this side before dramatically pushing his way inside the bedroom. Knowing the other man would follow, he crossed to the bed and stared down at the corpse, whispering her name with more tenderness than he had ever done while she was alive. When he reached out to touch her face, with a shaky hand, the man beside him pulled him away.

"It's best not to touch anything until we can get an evidence team in here," the detective said, looking sadly at the woman. "Who was she?"

With his eyes still trained on Claire, but welling with tears on command, Lyle swallowed hard and murmured, "She was . . . my business partner. Claire James."

"I'm sorry. Were you close?"

"Not really. But she didn't deserve this. All she wanted was . . ." His voice faded for a moment and, his eyes widened as he turned his attention on the man. "He's escaping. The fire alarm is a ruse. You have to do something. Now!"

"Who is escaping? Are you saying that you know who did this?"

"Yes. His name is Jarod."

* * *

She waited in the stairwell until Lyle and his companion disappeared into room 1605 before venturing into the hall and quickly entering the room she'd hidden the Pretender. She found him face down on the floor and the wheelchair on its side. Closing the door behind her, Miss Parker crossed to Jarod's side and carefully rolled him to his back.

"Come on," she whispered, lightly slapping his face, "it's time to wake up."

There was movement beneath his eyelids and, slowly, the dark brown orbs came into view. He frowned and looked from her to the door, his hands moving to his ears as she helped him into a sitting position.

"You hit me," he murmured sullenly. His eyes met hers and, in an instant, Miss Parker rose to her feet. "I can't believe you hit me."

"Stop whining. I saved your ass."

He raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest, his voice mirroring her acerbic tone. "_That_ has yet to be determined."

"I did not hit you that hard."

"You rendered me unconscious."

"Yeah, well, it's not like _that's_ never happened before. Get over it."

Jarod sighed and leaned against the footboard of the bed. Opting to end the bickering, he bit back the response that came to mind and silently hoped it would alleviate the pounding in his head. As his hands pressed against his temples, though, the Pretender managed to separate the throbbing in his head from the shrill sounds bombarding him from all angles.

"What . . . what is that noise?"

"Fire alarm," she replied casually.

He looked up at her but, before Jarod could respond, Miss Parker turned away and disappeared into the bathroom. When she reappeared, he shook his head at the glass of water she offered and pulled himself to his feet.

"We need to leave," he said groggily.

"Relax." She slid her hand to his shoulder and gently coaxed him backward until he was sitting on the mattress. "We have time."

He stared at her, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "You just told me there was a fire."

"I never said any such thing," she countered. "We're perfectly safe."

"But . . ."

"Jarod, there is no fire. I pulled the alarm as a means of getting us out of here."

He tilted his head to the left and raised an eyebrow. "And, yet, we haven't left the hotel."

"Maybe not, but we have left the room with the dead body," she snapped. When he glanced sheepishly away, she added, "As soon as the Fire Department arrives, we'll leave the building. The more commotion in the halls and lobby, the better our chances of getting out of here unnoticed."

Jarod began massaging the emerging bump on the back of his head. "You do realize that it is against the law to pull a fire alarm, don't you?"

Miss Parker hesitated then looked at him and laughed at the seriousness of his voice. Slowly, the man raised his eyes to her and returned the grin.

* * *

"Jarod must have found out that I called you," Lyle continued, his eyes trained on Claire as the Detective pulled him into the living area of the suite. "She's dead because of me."

Glancing at the body, the man pulled the bedroom door closed and faced Lyle. "This killing was not quick. How long was Claire alone?"

Lyle shook his head and freed himself from the man's hold. "Aren't you listening to me? She wasn't alone. **_He_** was here. That's why I called you."

The man's face darkened. "You said you had information about the murders. You never told anyone that you actually _had_ the killer."

"I wasn't sure he _was_ the killer," Lyle snapped. Then, softening his voice, he shot a look at the closed bedroom door. "Until now."

"Okay," the man sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm going to need to know everything you know about this Jarod. I need his description, his possible motive, his associates, places he likes to frequent . . . everything. Let's go. I'll call my people from the lobby and, when the Fire Department is done, we can secure the room as a crime scene."

"No! First, we need to do a search of the building. He's here. I'm telling you that there is no fire."

"And, you may be right, but we can't take the chance," the man replied. Moving to the window, he nodded and faced Lyle. "The Fire Department has arrived. They will do a full sweep of the building. But, we need to get downstairs and tell them that there are . . . special circumstances."

Following the man into the hall, Lyle shook his head. "You have no idea how special the circumstances are, Detective Stratford. If you don't find him, I can guarantee another innocent woman will die very soon."

* * *

He watched her peer out the peephole in the door and took a deep breath as his gaze slid down her toned form. In the year they were estranged, he had managed to succeed at keeping all thoughts of her at bay. It had been difficult but, at the time, he had believed it was the only way he could survive. Now, the hurt and anger he had felt at her departure was finally beginning to subside and, as he stared at the woman, Jarod could not imagine why he had thought living without even the memory of her would be beneficial.

"You never told me how you got a key to this room."

"Broots," she replied.

"Excuse me?"

"Broots," she repeated, glaring at him over her shoulder. "He reserved the closest room he could find to the one Claire was leasing."

"So, you checked in? Do you think that was such a wise move?"

"Don't get your undies in a knot. As soon as I checked in, Broots wiped out all record of it. No one knows we're here." Her eyes suddenly darted from him to the window. "I hear sirens. The Fire Department must have arrived."

Rising from the bed, Jarod pulled himself from his reverie and moved to the window. He pulled back the curtains far enough to gaze at the street below and nodded. "The engines are pulling into the parking lot now."

"How many?"

"Two, and a police car."

"Good. The more the better," she said, turning away. Pressing her eye to the peephole, she added, "Get ready. It shouldn't be long now."

"Exactly what are we waiting for?" he asked, moving behind her.

She hesitated then stepped away from the door, motioning for him to take a look out the tiny hole. Warily, Jarod did as she silently commanded.

"Lyle," he growled, as the Parker's twin stepped into the hall.

"That's right. And, as soon as he and his new friend leave, we will be right behind them."

* * *

Hunched over in the back seat, Adam pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes in an effort to regain control of his senses. Everything had happened so quickly that, even now, he could only remember quick flashes of images - his mother's expression as she'd ushered him and Emily into the house, Sweepers emerging from the first floor bedrooms with guns drawn, and his mother's screams as shots were fired.

He remembered someone grabbing his arm and curled his fingers as if his fists were, once again, making a solid connection with his attacker. Gunfire, muted by silencers, punctuated the shouts of his mother and sister. A moment later a thick arm wrapped itself around his neck. His panic quickly transformed into anger, and then frustration, as he struggled against being dragged him toward an exit.

"_Stop it! If you keep fighting, we'll kill them all."_

"How are you feeling?"

Dropping his hands, Adam sighed and forced a smile for his sister as he nodded. "I'm okay, Em."

From the front seat, his mother turned to gaze at him. Reaching through the opening in the seats of the SUV, she took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. His father glanced at him from the rear view mirror and, though Adam wanted to ask what had happened, he could not force the words.

Instead, he sat back in the seat, letting his hand slide from his mother's, as he glanced over his shoulder. He knew that Sydney, Broots and Debbie were in the car behind them but, until the vehicle was close enough for him to make out their faces, Adam refused to turn away.

"It's all right, Son. We are all safe."

The Major's deep voice drew Adam's attention and, when their eyes met in the mirror, the younger man nodded.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere Lyle and his men won't think of looking for us," the man answered. "I promise."

"Will Jarod and Miss Parker be there?"

The Major hesitated then shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Son. Your brother and Miss Parker are dealing with their own situation right now."

"What kind of situation? Are they all right?"

"I don't know the details but, as long as they are together, I am sure they are fine. They promised to call later tonight."

Adam considered his father remark then asked, "When did you talk with them?"

"I didn't," the man replied, shaking his head. "Broots spoke with Miss Parker."

"Miss Parker was the one who warned us that Lyle had sent his men to the beach house," Margaret interjected, facing her son again. "If it weren't for her, things might be very different right now."

Adam nodded slightly, but did not comment. The subject of Lyle's objectives for the Sweepers he'd sent to Jarod's home was not something he wanted to discuss. He knew what Lyle's plans were, better than anyone and, they terrified him.

"_You wanted Jarod's life. Well, now you've got it. With me."_

"How did she know?" he asked, softly. "How did Miss Parker know what Lyle was planning?"

"I didn't ask. At the time, my only thoughts were of you and your sister."

"But, Jarod was with her," he said, though the words sounded more like a question.

"Yes."

"_Jarod has wanted you out of his family from the first moment you betrayed him." _

Hugging himself, Adam turned his head and stared out the window. A few seconds later, he felt Emily's soft hand on his and brought his eyes to his sister.

Their mother's worried demands that they return to the house, and then the attack of Lyle's men, had happened within minutes of Emily suggesting the two of them talk the porch. He knew she still hoped to discuss his earlier outburst but, at the moment, Adam could not bring himself to talk about Jarod. More and more, his doubts about his older self were disappearing and, unfortunately, his doubts about Lyle's words were doing the same.

* * *

They took the steps slowly, stopping to let others between them and Lyle while still keeping him in their line of sight. Jarod's height was a mixed blessing. While he was tall enough to see over the heads of many, and was able to keep tabs on Lyle in the darkened hallway, his stature also made it easy for him to be seen. So, when they finally reached the door to the lobby, where the scene was almost as chaotic as Miss Parker expected, the brunette suddenly pulled at the Pretender's arm.

There were people everywhere. Hotel staff were directing the guests to the closest exits while Emergency Personnel were entering through the same doors, intent on beginning their search of the building. Without a word, the woman pushed against the flow of traffic and headed to the rear of the building, forcing the Pretender to follow her. Less than a minute later, the were standing in the parking lot.

Almost immediately, Jarod's hands flew up to shade his eyes. Though the sun had completely set, the glare of the street lights and the flashing colored lights of the emergency vehicles were brighter than those in the hotel. The glare was enough to make the Pretender come to a sudden halt.

"Give me a minute," he murmured.

Miss Parker watched him for a moment then sighed and moved in front of Jarod. Gently reaching up, she slid her hands over his and slowly drew them toward her.

"It's okay. Close your eyes," she whispered. When she felt him tense, Miss Parker added, "Trust me."

He hesitated but, with a soft nod, Jarod closed his eyes. Without question, he allowed her to position both his hands around her right hand. She took a step forward and, above the frenzied sounds of the fire alarm, he began obeying her softly worded directions. After a few moments of concentrating on her husky, but quiet tones, Jarod realized that all other sounds had faded from his consciousness. More disconcerting though, was that when they finally arrived at the car, and she slid from his grasp, he felt a twinge of disappointment.

Once he was seated inside the vehicle, and the engine roared to life, Jarod took a deep breath.

"We're not out of the woods, yet," she warned, shifting the car into drive. "Lyle is still lurking around here somewhere. If he spots us . . ."

"I'm not worried. You got us this far, Parker. The rest should be a piece of cake for you."

She laughed and looked at him. "I'm glad you think so."

Facing her, Jarod ignored the pain as he opened his eyes and openly met her gaze. "I know so."

* * *

Parking the SUV at the back of a two story building, the Major looked from one family member to the next and announced, "It's not much. Some of us will be sleeping on the floor. But, it is safe and it will do for tonight."

"Where exactly are we, Charles? What is this place?"

"It's Dr. Kelly's office," Emily answered, sliding from the SUV. She looked at her father and shook her head. "Dad, do you really think this is a good idea? What if he returns from his trip early?"

"Sweetheart, it will be fine. Trust me. Sydney and I have already gone over every inch of the office and the property. We will be perfectly safe here, for one night."

She glanced at the building skeptically. "But, what if he returns?"

"I don't think he'll be coming here," the Major sighed, slipping his arm around his daughter. "In fact, I don't think Dr. Kelly has been here in quite some time."

Emily frowned and stared at her father. "But, this is the address that was in Jarod's book."

Glancing at his wife and son as Sydney, Broots and Debbie appeared, he started toward the building. "Let's go inside and we'll explain everything."

* * *

Miss Parker stepped into the apartment and tossed her keys on the kitchen bar. Turning, she waited until Jarod was inside, and the door was closed, before she turned away and slid out of her jacket.

"What is this place?"

"Home sweet home," she sighed. Crossing the room, she slid her hand into the pocket of the coat and retrieved both cell phones, her keys and wallet then dropped the leather garment over the edge of the sofa.

"You live here?"

"Live is a strong word," she replied, sliding the items onto the desk, "but, yes. And, before you get all noble on me, it's perfectly safe. No one, especially Lyle, will be able to trace me to this place. Neither of us is in any danger by being here."

He smiled and glanced at her. "I believe you."

She watched him closely as his dark eyes skipped from the living room to the kitchen and, finally, across to the balcony. Jarod moved to the sliding doors and stared out at the dark ocean a few moments before stepping outside. Without a word, Miss Parker followed him.

"How are your eyes?"

"Better. I think the drops Lyle used are finally wearing off."

"Good." She hesitated then, asked, "So, do you want to talk about what happened back there?"

"It would be a very short conversation," he replied sadly. "I seem to have many gaps in my memory, Parker. Too many."

"Don't worry about them, right now," she told him as she moved to his side. "Just concentrate on what you do remember. The rest will fill itself in, when the time is right."

Dropping his elbows to the metal railing, he raised his eyes to her and added, "The last thing I remember, Lyle and Claire were 'escorting' me into the bedroom so that Claire could . . ."

His voice faded and, simultaneously, his eyes shifted toward the ocean. She waited, unsure of whether she wanted him to continue or not. Knowing what Jarod had been subjected to, the last time Lyle held him captive, was bad enough. Though she felt guilty about it, Miss Parker wasn't sure she wanted to know the details of what her brother had done to him this time around.

"It's a beautiful view," he said, after a long silence. "You can see forever."

"It helps that we're twelve stories above ground."

"It doesn't hurt." Jarod smiled and glanced over the edge of the railing at the activity and lights of the street below. Soon, landmarks became recognizable, his brows furrowed as he followed the line of the street below until the headlights faded in the darkness. "We are only a few miles from the beach house."

"I know," she admitted. Then, hesitantly, Miss Parker added, "It was one of the reasons I rented the place last year."

He froze for a moment, his hands clenching the railing for a heart beat before he brought his eyes to her. "You've been living here a year?"

"Give or take a few weeks."

In the silence that followed, Miss Parker found she was unable to read the Pretender's reaction to her words. His facial features had hardened and she could see the subtle pulse of his jaw muscle as Jarod struggled for more control. However, despite the tensing of the rest of his body, his eyes still held the same softness they'd had when Jarod had commented on the view.

"You left me . . my house to come here, a few miles away."

She heard his confusion and shook her head. "That's not why I left, Jarod. I left because I wanted to help you."

"You were helping me."

"No, Jarod, I wasn't," she promised.

When he straightened his stance and sighed, Miss Parker held her breath, steeling herself for the hurt or angry words that might follow. The conversation was a long time coming and, now that it had started, she wanted to make him understand. Instead, the Pretender turned away and returned to the apartment.

When she finally found the courage to follow him, Miss Parker found Jarod sitting on the sofa. Wiping his face, he didn't look at her but answered her unspoken questions, "I'm tired, Parker. I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to rest. I need time to . . . make sense of everything that has happened. Maybe I'll manage to fill in a few blanks."

Glancing at the files piled on the desk, and then at the weary Pretender, she bit back the urge to push him to continue their conversation. The last thing she wanted was to make things more difficult for him. "You'd be more comfortable in the bedroom."

"I'd rather stay here, if it's all the same to you," he replied tiredly.

If she hadn't known what Lyle had put him through at the cabin, or hadn't found him in Claire's bedroom, she might have argued the point with him. Instead, Miss Parker turned and pulled a light blanket from the linen closet. When she turned back, she found Jarod had moved from the sofa to the recliner. His head bobbed to the right to watch her approach, but the man said nothing.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked, draping the blanket over his long form. "A drink, maybe, to help you sleep?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" Taking his refusal of alcohol as a good sign, she taunted playfully, "I'm going to pour myself one and sit on the balcony. It's no trouble to make two."

He shook his head and half-heartedly returned her smile. "I'm fine, Parker."

She said nothing but the soft nod as she moved away was not enough for him to close his eyes. He shifted positions in the chair so that he could look out at the ocean. A moment later, Miss Parker appeared at the balcony doors. As promised, she had a drink in her hand.

"Thank you," he murmured. When she looked at him, he continued in a soft, but strong voice, "If it hadn't been for you . . ."

"You would have done the same for me," she said, purposely interrupting him. "Now stop talking and rest."

She smiled softly when he closed his eyes and pulled the blanket to his shoulders. Then, turning away, she slid the doors closed and whispered, "Something tells me you're going to need it."

* * *

Lyle paced anxiously in front of Detective Stratford's car. Though he continued to scan every face that passed him, he knew that Jarod was gone. The plan he had carefully constructed was on the verge of being ruined.

He had wanted Jarod and the Detective to meet, over Claire's corpse. He had wanted the Pretender to be unable to account for his time and find himself under suspicion, or possibly, arrested for murder.

Sliding his cell phone from the pocket of his pants he quickly punched out the appropriate numbers and pressed the device to his ear.

"He's gone."

"What? When? How did it happen?"

"I was about to ask you the same question, Doctor," he snapped. "I gave Jarod a direct order not to leave the hotel room and, when I returned, he was gone."

"That's impossible. You must have worded your command . . ."

"My command was very clear and concise."

"Then, there are only two possible explanations," the man replied confidently. "Either, someone took him from the room, without his knowledge or, as I warned, Jarod is beginning to resist the commands."

Lyle considered the statement carefully as he continued to search the area around him. Willie had said that Miss Parker was with Jarod when they rescued the boy from the ship. The fact that there was no possible way she could have known Jarod was at the hotel, however, did not convince him that the woman was not involved in the Pretender's latest vanishing act. He had learned a long time ago not to underestimate his sister.

"Call him. Bring him to the cabin," he ordered. When he heard an audible sigh of frustration, Lyle added, "Now."

"Very well. But, I cannot stress the importance of Jarod and I spending an extended amount of time together, Mr. Lyle. I told you, he is beginning to question his own actions. If this continues, he will be of no use to you."

"He is no use to me now, Doctor. I told you, you will have your time with Jarod as soon as he completes his task."

"The girl," he sighed.

"That's right. Is she still sedated?"

"Yes."

"And is the Cadillac still in the garage?"

"Yes."

"What about the images you planted in Jarod's subconscious? Is he still suffering from them, or have they run their course?"

"No, they will continue until I give the command for them to stop. But . . ."

"Good. That's all I needed to know," he interrupted. "Call me as soon as you reach Jarod."

Abruptly disconnecting the call, Lyle slid the phone back into his pocket and smiled. There was still a chance that he could salvage his plan.

"Mr. Lyle, I need you to come to the station and answer some questions."

Lyle looked up as the Detective appeared. "Of course. I will do anything I can to help find Jarod."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II - Retribution  
by imagine

Part 17/?

_Her screams vibrated in his hand and her tears bathed his fingers as he positioned himself on top of her. With her wrists bound together and secured to the bar of the bed post, and her legs trapped under his weight, she bucked and twisted beneath him. He quieted her by running a soft finger under her chin. His hand fanned out over her throat and slowly applied pressure. _

_He held her eyes with his, marveling at how her orbs seemed to widen with each pulse of his hand against her throat. Pressing his mouth to her neck, he slid his hand from her throat to her breast as another muted scream caressed his palm. His laugh sounded foreign to his own ears. Deep and menacing, it rolled in his throat like a growl. _

"_Stop fighting. The sooner you admit you have no control, the better off you will be."_

_He murmured demands into her skin, telling her when to be still, when to cry out his name, when to beg him for more. When she disobeyed, he found ways to cause her pain until she complied. A pinch. A bite. A slap. A forceful thrust. _

_By the time he slid his hand from her mouth, and his member from her body, her cries had become dry gasps for air. He wiped the hair and beads of sweat from her face and let her rest long enough to swallow a few sips of water. _

"_You just need to cooperate a little longer," he cooed. "Cooperate and it will all be over very soon."_

Jarod doubled over, gasping for breath as he tried to calm himself. The images were more vivid and more menacing than any of the others had been and he doubted he would ever truly purge them from his mind. Still leaning forward, he raked his hands through his hair and concentrated on the reluctant rise and fall of his chest.

Somewhere, a phone was ringing. He raised his head hesitantly and, though the sound did nothing but increase his anxiousness, he pushed himself from the recliner. Disoriented and unsure, he moved slowly, his mind barely registering the fact that his body was trembling and the ache in his gut was increasing with each step.

In the darkness, Jarod tracked the shrill chimes to the desk. He found the phone in the center of the top drawer, vibrating violently against the back panel. With a surprisingly steady hand, he retrieved the device and stared at the number on the display.

"Awake already?"

Startled, he spun toward the voice. He felt his chest constrict as the shadowed form moved into the room and rolled the balcony doors back into place. Still caught in a world where nothing was recognizable, the Pretender's hand tightened around the cell phone.

_Her screams vibrated in his hand._

He closed his eyes for a split second, desperate to vanquish the image. When he opened them again, the phone had stopped vibrating but the shadowed figure was still approaching.

"Jarod? Jarod, is something wrong?"

Though he could not explain it, the sound of his name being repeated in her husky but tender tone provided clarity to the Pretender. Suddenly, the room no longer held sinister characteristics and the woman was no longer a threat. Unable to find his voice, he dropped the now silent phone back into the drawer and shook his head in response.

"You're trembling. Sit down."

Her touch was warm against his damp skin. She led him to the sofa and, when he was seated, slid the blanket over his shoulders. He closed his eyes and, though the trembling began to subside, the rhythm of his heart beat increased. When he felt her start to move away, panic gripped him and Jarod grabbed the woman's hand. Squeezing it, he looked up at her.

"I killed her," he whispered. "I killed them."

"No," she answered firmly. Kneeling in front of him, Miss Parker kept her hand in his and stared into the dark eyes. "Listen to me, Jarod. I don't know what game my brother is playing with your mind, but you did not kill anyone."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you better than you know yourself," she insisted. "And I know him."

Jarod shook his head. "It's not enough."

"It has to be. Trust me, Jarod, you are not a murderer."

Drawing his hand from hers, the Pretender wiped his face and released a shuddered sigh. She was trying to help him and, more than anything, he wanted to let her. He wanted to believe that the confidence in her voice was not manufactured. He wanted to believe that she had some innate connection to his soul and could see everything there was to know about him.

Unfortunately, there were too many disconnected, violent images in his head for Jarod to make the leap of faith.

"I saw it happen," he whispered hoarsley. "I was watching myself . . ."

"It was just a nightmare, Jarod," she promised, as his voice faded. "Tell me what happened. It will help to talk about it."

Jarod stood abruptly and crossed to the balcony doors. Both the sky and the ocean were so dark, it almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. He stared at the point he believed the horizon to be and allowed himself to imagine the sounds of the waves as they washed up on the beach.

"I'm glad you brought me here," he murmured as he unconsciously hugged himself. "When I'm near the ocean, I can breathe. I don't feel like I'm suffocating."

"I know," she replied.

He'd confessed the ocean's appeal to her before, when his memories of Lyle's cabin became too much for him to bear. Hearing him repeat himself, now, made her heart sink.

He focused his eyes on her reflection in the glass then, without a word, Jarod opened the door and stepped outside. To him, the air seemed chillier than it had before, but Miss Parker seemed unaffected so Jarod kept the complaint to himself. When she moved beside him and handed him a glass, he took a sip without question. The sensation of the watered down Scotch as it burned its way down his throat was neither familiar or unpleasant. He stared at the glass until the drink settled in his stomach and a warm glow began to spread through his body. Then, without looking up, Jarod brought the glass to his lips a second time and emptied the glass.

"How long was I asleep?"

"A little over an hour."

"That's all?"

She nodded and took the glass from his hand. "Tell me about the dream, Jarod."

Still wrapped in the blanket, he pulled it tighter around his shoulders and raised his face to the breeze.

"I don't remember it," he lied. He saw her frown but, before she could challenge the statement, he asked, "Have you spoken with Broots? Is Adam safe?"

"I don't know. I was coming inside to call them."

"Good," he sighed, looking at her. "We can call them together."

"And then _we're_ going to talk."

* * *

Adam searched the office as his father spoke, though he had no idea what he hoped to find. Sydney and his father had already gone through Dr. Kelly's files and personal belongings. They were convinced that Jarod had never set foot in the office.

"When I visited Jarod a few months ago," he offered, "Dr. Kelly came to the house. Maybe he prefers talking with his patients in familiar surroundings."

"Possibly," Sydney nodded, "but it does not explain the fact that we could find nothing related to Jarod in his files."

"What about the telephone line?" Emily asked. "Did you find out where it's being forwarded to?"

"My contact is still working on it," the Major sighed. "We may not know until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow may be too late," Margaret complained. "We have no idea where Jarod has been. What if he . . ."

"What do you mean, you don't know where Jarod has been?" His gaze moved between his parents but, the pained expression on his mother's face made him rest his eyes on her. "Is Jarod missing?"

"Oh, Baby, I'm sorry," she murmured, taking a step toward him.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," the Major interjected. "Jarod is fine."

Slowly, a sense of urgency he could not explain began to build in his voice. "How long has he been gone?"

"Since Midnight," he sighed.

"Midnight," he repeated. "Jarod has been missing since he brought me home. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You'd been through so much," Margaret explained, "we didn't want to upset you."

His throat felt as if it were closing. The air was so thick, he felt as if he'd been tossed back into the ocean and was struggling to find the surface.

"So, you lied to me?" he choked out.

"We did what we thought was right. We didn't want you to worry."

Turning away in an effort to hide the tears that were welling, he gripped the edge of the bookshelf and tried to catch his breath.

"Son, it's all right. Your brother is safe," the Major promised. Moving beside the young man, he placed a gentle hand on Adam's shoulder. "Jarod was with Miss Parker an hour ago."

The words, meant to console him, did nothing but cause the air in his lungs to evaporate. Shaking his head, but keeping it low, he pushed his way out of the office and down the hall. He had no idea where he was going but, at that moment, he needed to be alone. He needed to think.

"Elvis? Elvis, wait."

He heard his sister calling out and, instead of replying, he ducked inside the stairwell. Taking the stairs in rapid succession, he came to an abrupt halt when he found himself at the exit. He had nowhere to go.

When she found him, Adam was crouching in the corner with his head lowered to his knees.

"Hey," she murmured, "talk to me. What happened up there?"

"Go away." He heard his voice crack and squeezed his eyes tighter. "Please, Em, just go away."

She sat beside him, close enough so their shoulders were touching. He wanted to move away, to break their connection but he was already wedged in the corner. When her arm slid over his shoulders, he winced, knowing that she was picking up on his emotions and not understanding their cause.

"Not a chance. I'm here for the duration, Little Brother," she replied, gently tightening her grip on his shoulder in reassurance. "So you may as well start talking."

Adam bit his lip and shook his head, silently arguing with himself about the conclusions he was drawing. And, while he struggled with his thoughts, Emily tried to comfort him by tenderly stroking his arm and shoulder. The silence grew between them for almost five minutes before he whispered, "The alarm didn't go off."

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, he raised his eyes to his sister and repeated, "The alarm didn't go off when the sweepers broke in. They knew how to bypass it."

"So?"

"Jarod designed the alarm, Em, he's the only one who would know how to bypass it." He saw her eyes widen and knew that Emily was understanding what he was trying to say. "He's been missing since Midnight."

The caress of his arm stopped and her gaze hardened. "No."

"Em, think about it," he pleaded. "Find another explanation. I don't want to be right."

* * *

She dialed Broots' number and watched the Pretender pace as she waited for an answer. 

"Hello? Miss Parker?"

"How did you know it was me?"

The technician let out an audible sigh of relief and said, "Caller ID. I was hoping it was you."

"Why, what's wrong?"

She glanced at Jarod as he came to a halt then started to move toward her.

"It's Adam. He . . . he kind of had a breakdown."

"What do you mean, Adam had a breakdown? Spit it out!"

"Um, yes, ma'am," he muttered. "Adam found out that Jarod was missing. He took it kind of hard, even after the Major told him that Jarod was okay and that he was with you."

Putting her hand over the phone, she looked at Jarod and repeated what Broots had told her. Immediately, the Pretender held out his hand. He stared at her and, just as silently, Miss Parker relinquished her cell phone.

"Mr. Broots, I need to talk to my brother. Please, put him on the line."

"But, um, Adam isn't here, Jarod. He ran out a few minutes ago. Emily went after him."

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know," the man admitted. "Do you want to talk to your father? Or maybe Sydney?"

"No," he sighed. "I need to talk to Adam. The minute he and Emily return, tell him to call me."

She saw the frustration in Jarod's face as handed her the phone and turned away. Bringing the device to her ear, while her eyes remained trained on the Pretender, Miss Parker said, "Broots, if Adam doesn't call in an hour, I'll be calling back. Make sure your phone is on."

"Yes, ma'am."

Disconnecting the call, she slid the phone into her pocket and followed Jarod onto the balcony. Gripping the rail with both hands, his head was lowered and his shoulders were trembling.

"He's okay," she told him, as she closed the doors. "He's with Emily."

Shaking his head, Jarod dropped to his elbows on the railing and murmured, "He's not okay, Parker, and there's nothing Emily can tell him to make it better. He's figuring it out."

"He's figuring what out?" she asked, moving to his side.

"That I betrayed him."

She stared at him, trying desperately to convince herself that his words had a different meaning. Finally, deciding that he had no intention of explaining himself willingly, she shook her head and shifted her attention from him to the sea.

"You're wrong," she said. "Lyle did something . . ."

"Yes, he did, but I don't know how he did it," the man interrupted. "One moment I was refusing to do what he wanted and the next he was showing me my completed work."

She looked at him but he did not return the favor. "What did he want you to do?"

Jarod wiped his face and swallowed hard before answering. "He wanted a drawing of the house and instructions on how to disarm the alarm."

As he finished speaking the words, Jarod looked at her for a reaction. Her eyes glistened as they scanned his face. He saw questions. He saw concern. He did not see condemnation. Yet, Jarod's anxiety did not subside.

"Is this one of the gaps in your memory that you mentioned earlier?"

"I swear to you, Parker, I don't remember agreeing. I don't remember making the drawings but he showed them to me. They were in my handwriting."

"Calm down. I believe you."

Jarod hesitated. "You do?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I already told you," she chastised. "Weren't you listening? I know you better than you know yourself, Jarod. I always have."

* * *

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" 

"No," he sighed. "What?"

"The day I found out who you really were. Do you remember?" Shifting her position so she was facing him, Emily slid her hand under his chin and brought Adam's eyes to hers. "I'd overheard Dad referring to you as his son and I accused him of having an affair, of betraying Mom."

"I remember," he answered. "What does that have to do with this?"

"I misunderstood. I made an assumption and I was wrong. Dad never had an affair."

"I know you're trying to make an analogy, Emily, but I'm not in the mood," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "So, just say what you want to say."

"Stop being so damned difficult," she snapped. "You know exactly what I'm trying to say. You are assuming that Jarod betrayed you, the way I assumed Dad betrayed Mom."

"Well, considering what I know, it's kind of difficult not to come to that conclusion."

"And, exactly, what do you know, Adam?" she dared. "You know that Jarod has been missing since Midnight. You know that Sweepers attacked us. You know that Miss Parker, while she was with Jarod, warned Mom that Lyle's men were coming."

As she spoke, she saw him rake his fingers through his hair. His eyes were lowered and, though she couldn't be sure, they appeared to be closed.

"Stop trying to fill in the blanks," she said, gently bringing his eyes back to hers. "You'll only succeed in driving yourself crazy."

"But, what if . . . ?"

"What if _what_?" she asked, when his voice faded. "What if Jarod really did tell Lyle where you were? Then you owe it to yourself, and to Jarod. to find out the circumstances."

Wiping his eyes, Adam took a deep breath and then wiped his eyes again. "I don't want to believe he would do this, Em. But . . ."

He bit his lower lip as he searched for the words to finish his statement.

"I know and I promise it's going to be all right," she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. "I heard the things he said to you on the ship, Adam. I saw the way he was with you. Jarod would sooner give up his own life than to try and take your freedom. He would never hurt you."

At once, all the doubts he had about his brother came to the surface, followed by all the things he knew were true. And, while the boy's confusion mounted, Emily became more aware of her brother's frame of mind. Guilt, anger, frustration and fear were simultaneously tugging at his emotions, leaving him in a confused and vulnerable state.

Wrapping her arms around the young man, she pulled him close and whispered, "Everything is going to be all right."

* * *

Miss Parker stepped onto the balcony with two cups of tea and placed both on the small café table. She sat in the chair opposite the Pretender and took a slow sip from her mug as she watched him over the rim. 

"Drink it before it gets cold."

Drawing his eyes from the ocean, he looked at the woman then at the mug on the table. He had taken a shower and shaved but, even in the darkness, the bruises Lyle and Claire had inflicted on him were visible.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," he sighed. "The shower helped clear some of the cobwebs."

She took a sip of her drink as he spoke and nodded.

"I am curious as to how you happened to have clothes that would fit me, though."

"Don't waste too much time on it," she told him. "They're just a pair of sweat pants and shirt."

"Yes, but they're mine."

Not bothering to hide the smile playing on her lips, Miss Parker raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to one side. "Are they?"

"You know they are, Parker," he grinned. "You were with me when I bought them almost a year ago."

She shook her head and took another sip of her drink. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Fine," he sighed, "have it your way. But we both know you stole them when you left."

"We know no such thing." Then, in a softer voice, she added, "Besides, they look better on me than they do on you."

"I am sure they do."

Almost immediately after the banter ended, she felt his mood shift back to more serious thoughts. She watched his face as he stared out at the ocean. His eyes were soft but his mouth was a firm line that betrayed his concern.

"Stop worrying. Adam will be all right."

He glanced at her and nodded. "I hope so."

"Trust me."

He placed the mug on the table and leaned forward. "Do you realize that's like the third time you've told me to trust you?"

"Do you have a problem with trusting me?"

"I don't know," he admitted. Sitting back in the chair, he stared at her. "There was a time when I did it as easily as breathing."

"And that's changed?"

Jarod dropped his gaze then hook his head and looked out at the ocean. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No. You obviously have something you need to get off your chest, Jarod. Say it."

He hesitated then, with his eyes still trained on some distant point in the sea, he asked, "Did you really rent this apartment a year ago?"

Though she had not only expected, but hoped, the topic would come up, suddenly, Miss Parker was feeling insecure. She knew what it would lead to and, with the Adam situation what it was, she hoped Jarod would be able to handle what she had to say.

"Yes."

Still facing the water, he bowed his head for a moment as he considered the one word response. "You rented this place about the same time I asked you to move in with me."

"Actually, I rented it after I moved in with you."

Jarod let out a small, humorless laugh and looked at her. "Well, then, I guess that makes it okay."

"No, it doesn't, but it doesn't change the fact that, at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing." She held his gaze, hoping he understood, but when the Pretender turned away, Miss Parker moved in front of him. Blocking his view of the ocean, she explained, "Jarod, when you asked me to move in, you were still in the hospital. You were recovering from your physical injuries but you hadn't even scraped the surface of the emotional ones."

"Did you think I would change my mind?"

"Honestly, I thought I would change my mind before you would."

"I guess you were right, weren't you?" he grumbled. Standing, Jarod moved around her. Crossing his arms, he pressed his hips against the railing and stared out at the ocean. "Congratulations."

She slid her hand under his biceps and forced the man to face her. It was important to her that he would see she was not being flippant, or viewing what had happened lightly. When his dark eyes settled on hers, she steeled herself against the disappointment and frustration she saw and continued in a strong voice, "Jarod, I have lived alone my entire adult life. I am set in my ways. I do things the way I want to do them, when I want to do them. When things don't work out my way, I tend to get . . . cranky."

"Now there's an understatement."

Ignoring his attempt to bait her into an argument, she looked the man squarely in the eye. "I have never had anyone need me the way I knew you would. I was scared to death. Your parents were living with you. Sydney was living with you. I had no idea where I fit in or what was expected of me. Do you have any clue how intimidating that is?"

Jarod's stance shifted and, though he meant to keep the barbed tone to his voice, the words came out as more of a statement of wonder. "_You _were intimidated?"

"It's been known to happen," she muttered. "The point is that I signed the lease on this place because I thought I might need to escape. I thought I'd need a refuge of sorts."

"I see," he said, sadly. "So, when you left, it was because you'd had enough family togetherness."

"No, that's not why I left, but it's the reason I rented the apartment. They are two very separate things. Now, will you please shut up and let me finish?"

Satisfied when the Pretender nodded, and a sheepish expression slid across his face, Miss Parker continued, "It didn't take long before I realized that I wanted to be with you and I honestly believed I was helping you in your recovery."

"You were."

"I came close to giving the apartment up more than once," she admitted, forcing herself to keep eye contact. She pushed the windblown hair from hier face and added, "But, the more you progressed in your therapy, the more difficult it became to be around you."

Taken aback by the comment, Jarod tilted his head to one side. "Excuse me?"

"During your sessions with Sydney, you started remembering the things Lyle did to you but the images were fragmented. You were having trouble making sense of them but you felt comfortable enough to discuss them with me."

"I remember," he said softly as his eyes began to slide toward the water. "Was that the problem? Was I sharing too much?"

"No, Jarod." Gently placing her hand on his, she brought his focus back to her, "The problem was that I already knew what he had done."

"You mean that you put the pieces together before I did."

She heard the hope in his voice and wanted nothing more than to agree with him. Instead, she shook her head.

"I knew exactly what Lyle was doing to you because I'd seen it happen. The night you came to the hospital to rescue me, Lyle made me watch."

As soon as the words left her lips, Miss Parker felt her insides twist. The conversation was long overdue and, though she knew it had to continue, she was beginning to worry about how it would affect their renewed, but fragile, relationship.

"What do you mean, he made you watch? I remember that night very vividly and there was nothing to watch, Parker. There was nothing to indicate what Lyle had planned to do to me."

"Tell me what you remember."

He stared at her, confused by the quiet tone of her voice. "I had discovered where Lyle was keeping you and came to make sure you were all right. When I saw you laying on the bed, drugged and pale, I knew I had to get you away from them."

She pinched the bridge of her nose as he spoke, holding back the emotions associated with those particular memories.

"Lyle and Willie were waiting for me in your hospital room," he continued, the crack in his voice betraying his own emotions. "You tried to warn me but I didn't understand until it was too late. They chloroformed me and took me to the warehouse. Nothing else happened."

When he was done, Miss Parker wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Still facing the Pacific, she murmured, "Something **_did _**happen."

"No." Taking her by the shoulders, he turned the woman to face him. "Nothing else happened. I would remember."

"Yes," she said softly, "you would remember, if you had been conscious at the time."

The words were like a slap in the face. He released her and took a step back, his eyes boring into her until tears began to form. When she took a step toward him, he spun toward the railing. His hands gripped the metal with such power that the more shallow cuts on his wrist began to open up but Jarod did not seem to notice.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, no longer bothering to suppress her tears. "You came to rescue me that night and, instead, you were dragged into a nightmare."

"It wasn't your fault, Parker," he managed. Even to his own ears, his voice was unrecognizable. He took a breath, held it for a second, then slowly turned to face her. "Why now? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I promise, I wanted to tell you, Jarod, but I couldn't. You hadn't put any of the pieces together, yet. You only had vague ideas of what Lyle had done and Sydney said that it was important that you make the connections on your own."

"Sydney knew?" he gasped. "Sydney knew that Lyle . . . molested me, in front of you?"

The tears were falling freely down her face now but Miss Parker made no effort to wipe them away. "I had to tell someone."

Grabbing the neck of his sweatshirt, she held the man in place as he tried to turn away. His breaths were coming in quick, uneven breaths and, though tears had welled in his eyes, they had not been released. She reached up to stroke his cheek, to offer him some sort of comfort, but Jarod caught her wrist and pushed it away.

"So, instead of being honest with me," he growled, "you ran away. You left me wondering what I had done wrong."

"I'm sorry, but when I realized that what I saw at the hospital was not a one-time thing designed to torment me, I needed to find out what Lyle was up to," she explained. The desperation in her voice was undeniable but, it had no effect on Jarod. When he pushed away from the railing and began to pace, with his head lowered, she added softly, "We knew he planned to program you as his personal assassin but that was all we knew. I left because I thought it was important to find out how . . . everything else fit in."

He stopped in front of the balcony door and looked at her. "Did you?"

"Not yet," she admitted. "I have files . . ."

"I'd like to see them."

She nodded and started for the doors. When she was beside him, Miss Parker hesitated. "Before you look at the files, Jarod, there's something else you should know."

"Lyle is still harvesting samples."

Her eyes shot up to his, wide and disbelieving, but Jarod did not meet her gaze. Instead, the Pretender reached for the door and slid it to the left.

"How did you know?" she whispered.

"Earlier today . . ." He felt her hand slide into his when his words failed him. Forcing himself to look her in the eye, he licked his lips and started again. "Earlier today, I was on the ship. I was on the Retribution and Lyle . . . Whatever his plans were a year ago, your brother has not abandoned them."

* * *

Adam followed his sister into the office. His parents were huddled on a small sofa to his right, talking quietly until they saw his face. Immediately, they were on their feet. 

"Son, are you all right?"

He nodded, his eyes sliding into the next room. Broots was hovering over Debbie's shoulder as she tapped furiously on the laptop they'd set up on the doctor's desk. The moment they heard the Major's voice, they looked up. Seeing the concern on their faces, Adam looked away.

Sydney was standing at the bookshelf and, though a thick medical book was open in his hands and his head was lowered, the psychiatrist's eyes were raised to Adam. Averting his gaze, the young man looked at his father and, then, his mother.

"Elvis and I had a nice talk," Emily offered, sliding her arm around his. "He's feeling better."

He saw his parent's gaze dart to his sister, unsure, before looking back at him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"You do not need to apologize. After everything you've been through," the Major replied, "it's only natural that your emotions would be at the surface."

"We should have told you about Jarod sooner," his mother added.

Adam shook his head. "It wouldn't have mattered. I'm sorry I overreacted."

"I told you that you did not need to apologize." Sliding a strong arm around his son, the Major led him to the sofa. "You did not do anything wrong."

Still standing by the door, Emily watched as her parents sat beside the young man and attempted to reassure him. Though she had no idea what they'd done, in a matter of four days, Lyle and Claire had managed to push Adam to the brink of becoming the same insecure and beaten young man he'd been when she met him. While it broke her heart to see him in such a confused state, she was confident that, with the help of their family, Adam was strong enough to overcome his fears.

"Emily?"

Startled, she turned to find Debbie standing beside her. "He's going to be fine."

Debbie glanced at Adam and nodded. Then, taking a step back, she motioned toward the desk where she and her father had been working. "My Dad and I found something I think you should see."

* * *

She stared at him, unable to find the voice to respond. However, Jarod immediately regretted his confession. Suddenly embarrassed, he dropped his eyes entered the apartment without another word. 

"Jarod . . ."

"Please, Miss Parker, let it go," he said quietly. Stepping to the center of the room, he squared his chest and shoulders as he pivoted toward her. "It's not important."

"Like hell it's not. Jarod . . ."

"Miss Parker, please, just show me the files."

She stared at him. Despite the firm stance he took, she saw the twitch of his muscles. She saw his eyes dart from side to side and the way his hands curled into fists at his side. The Pretender was doing everything in his power to keep himself from running.

Reluctantly, the brunette nodded. Motioning toward the desk, she stepped in front of him and pulled the three thick folders from the far right edge to the middle before she stepped away. Without hesitation, Jarod slid into the chair and opened the top file.

"As near as I can tell," she told him as he rummaged through the data, "there are facilities in Atlanta, Denver and Phoenix involved in Lyle's operation. Each of them have received an equal number of shipments in the past year, the last one being sent to Atlanta, a few days ago."

Jarod nodded, but did not shift his attention from the file in front of him.

"My men have . . ."

"You have _men_?" Jarod looked up at her, his right eyebrow raised in curiosity.

She smiled. "I always have men, Jarod. After all this time, I would expect you to know that about me."

He frowned and dropped his eyes to the documents in front of him. "So, what did these men find?"

"Nothing, that's the problem," she sighed. Leaning against the arm of the sofa, she crossed her arms and watched Jarod flip through the pages of the files. "They've scoured all three cities and, each time they think they've found the location of one of the facilities, they hit a dead end."

"So, you have no idea . . .?

Interrupted by the sound of a ringing phone, he shifted his gaze to the brunette. Immediately, Miss Parker moved to his side and shook her head, holding her cell phone toward him. "It's not mine. It must be Claire's."

Tugging at the top drawer, she retrieved the cell phone and glanced at the number in the display before bringing it to her ear.

"Who is this?"

No answer.

"Dammit, whoever you are, answer me. I can hear you breathing."

After a split second of hesitation, the call was disconnected.

Releasing a mild obscenity, she handed the phone to Jarod and shook her head. "They hung up."

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Broots," she replied, pulling her own phone from her pocket. "He can trace the number on the Caller ID."

"And get us what? The name and address of some fourteen year old in Santa Barbara?" Taking the phone from her, the Pretender disconnected the call and set the device on the desk. "It was probably a wrong number."

"You're not serious."

"Do I look like I am joking?"

"That call is the only clue we have."

"Clue to what?" he dared. "Exactly what do you hope to gain by tracing a hang-up call? We already know Claire had a partner - Lyle - and he knows she's dead so he has no reason to dial her number. And, anyone else who might call is irrelevant."

"If I didn't know better, I would swear you were trying to distract me," she muttered, crossing her arms. "What is it about that phone call that has you so jumpy?"

"I am not jumpy," he snapped. Then, taking a deep breath, he forced a calmer tone. "Look, Parker, right now, I am more concerned about what Lyle is up to than I am in a hang up call placed to a dead woman's phone. Broots promised to have Adam call me within the hour. If you still want him to trace the number, when he calls, I won't stop you. But, right now, I would like to concentrate on these files."

* * *

"Have you contacted him yet?" 

He looked up as the younger man entered and tossed his jacket across the back of the sofa. "I have called him twice. The first time, there was no answer."

"And the second?"

The warning tone was unmistakable but the doctor did not flinch. Instead, he rose from his seat and met the man in the middle of the room. "The second time, someone else answered the call"

"Who?"

"I don't know, Mr. Lyle," he sighed. "It was a woman. The point is, if Jarod has seen the number on the Caller ID, he will find a way to contact me. Once he does, I can give him the command to return to the cabin."

"And, what if he hasn't seen it?"

"I will make another attempt in a few hours," he assured the man.

"You did not answer my question. What happens if Jarod has not seen the number on the display? Will he contact you based on the fact that the phone rang?"

The doctor glared at the man in front of him. "No. If Jarod does not see the incoming number, the directive he has been given to call back will never be triggered."

Lyle frowned and nodded. "Which means I will have to come up with another way to bring him back."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	18. Chapter 18

A/N - I know this is shorter than normal, but I wanted to get it out before my hard drive crashes again. Anyway, I hope you like it.. Also, due to a job that requires 50+ hours a week and the upcoming holidays, there won't be another chapter until after the New Year. Merry Christmas everyone!.

Disclaimer in part 1

**Survival II - Retribution**  
by imagine

Part 18/?

She paced the floor, her arms folded across her chest but her eyes trained on the Pretender. With his eyes lowered, Jarod delved deeper and deeper into the files until she was sure he was unaware of his surroundings. His back rippled each time he turned a page or tilted his head quizzically and, though he periodically released soft breaths, the thick, muscles that made up his torso never released their tension.

The more Miss Parker watched him, the more she regretted handing over the files so soon. She still had questions. They still had important things to discuss.

"Why did you leave?"

Jarod continued leafing through the file in front of him until she pulled the documents from his hands. When he glared at her, she leaned forward and gripped the edge of the desk, defiantly meeting his threatening gaze with one of her own.

"Parker, these files are important. There are dates recorded that . . ."

"Never mind about the files, Jarod," she hissed, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. "The answer to my question is much more important at the moment. Why did you leave?"

Crossing his arms as he leaned back in the leather chair, Jarod shook his head. "I never left you."

"You left Adam," she countered, throwing the pages at him as she pushed away from the desk. "You risked everything to save him and then you left him, unprotected."

The moment his brother's name was spoken, Jarod was on his feet. By the time she finished her accusation, he had moved around her and was headed toward the galley kitchen.

"He wasn't unprotected. He had you and Emily."

"He needed **_you_**."

Without a word, or a glance in her direction, the Pretender entered the kitchen. Ignoring her stare, he began searching the upper cabinets. When he found the drinking glasses, he slid one from its shelf and filled it with tap water. As he brought the drink to his lips, a drop spilled over the edge of the glass and over his hand.

_The boat tipped to the left and a sudden wave splashed onto the deck. Immediately, Adam's head shot up, his eyes widening as they turned toward the edge of the ship. Simultaneously, Jarod realized his brother was trembling. Though he was sure it was not due to the chill in the air, the Pretender removed his leather jacket and draped it carefully around Adam's shoulders. Then, gently folding his arms around the young man, Jarod brought Adam to his chest._

"_You're safe," he repeated in a raspy whisper. "I will not let anyone hurt you again."_

Emptying the glass in three gulps, Jarod immediately refilled the receptacle, his eyes trained on the water streaming from the faucet.

"Your sister told me that, shortly after she came in, you stood up and moved to the door. When Adam asked you where you were going, you promised you would be right back."

Jarod murmured something she could not make out and, though his head was lowered, she knew he was not seeing the sink or the glass that was now overflowing with water. Moving from the sofa but resisting the urge to circle the counter that stood between them, Miss Parker watched the man search his memory, hoping to find an image that fit what she was telling him.

"When Adam calls, he is going to want to know where you went that day, as well as your reasons for leaving."

She waited until he straightened his stance and angrily twisted the cold water knob to the off position before asking, "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"I don't remember being in his room."

"I see," she sighed. "So, what are you planning on telling Adam when he calls?"

"The only thing I can tell him - the truth."

"Do you even know what the truth is, Jarod?"

"Don't be cute. I know what happened," he snarled.

"Then tell me."

He glared at her a moment and, when he spoke, his words were said with determination, as if he were trying to prod the next memory from wherever it was hiding. "I docked the boat at the marina. You and Emily helped Adam onto the pier. I watched the three of you head toward the parking lot."

She waited for him to continue, hoping she was wrong. More than anything, she wanted Jarod to be able to explain his actions. As the seconds slipped by, however, his muscles seemed to give into his stress and fatigue. The Pretender leaned forward on the counter, resting his weight on his elbows.

"I watched the three of you move toward the parking lot," he repeated, in a less forceful tone. Slowly, his eyes met hers. "And then . . . then, I was with Lyle, on the **_Retribution_**."

She said nothing but, as he pulled himself upright, he realized she was at his side. Though he opted to concentrate on the heaviness of his legs and the shallow intake of his lungs rather than at the soft frown he knew he would find on her face, Jarod allowed the brunette to help him to the sofa. The warm sensation of her hand under his shoulder and the tension of her body next to his comforted him in ways he could not explain.

"How many memory lapses have you had?"

"Why? Why does it matter to you, Parker?"

Despite his weariness, there was a definite barb to his tone and the brunette could not make herself let it pass. Untangling herself from his hold, she folded her arms across her chest and let him take the last few steps to the sofa by himself. "Because the kid matters to me. He's already terrified of Lyle. I don't think it's in his best interest to be terrified of you, too."

The Pretender's eyes shot up to hers. "Adam knows that I would never intentionally hurt him."

"Maybe," she admitted, "but it won't matter."

"Of course it will," he snapped. "Adam will understand . . ."

"Jarod, you left him at the beach house, after promising to keep him safe," she interrupted. "You do remember promising to keep him safe, don't you?"

He nodded dumbly and dropped his eyes for a moment, not seeing the relief that spread over her face.

"Well, that's something," she sighed.

"I suppose."

"But you don't remember telling Lyle how to get to him, do you? You don't remember giving my brother the codes to the alarm."

"We've been through this," he growled. "You know I don't remember. Make your point."

"Of the two memory spasms you can recall, both of them have had a direct effect on the boy's well being." When the Pretender stood and began slowly pacing the width of the room, she added, "How understanding do you expect Adam to be?"

In the silence that followed, Jarod's eyes darted from her to his hands to the files on the desk and then back again.

"We need to figure this out, Jarod, before it's too late."

"Too late," he repeated, with a humorless laugh. Facing her, the Pretender shook his head. "What if it is already too late, Parker? Adam was lucky. He had you. If you hadn't found me . . . What if, during one of my blackouts, I did something completely unforgivable?"

"Relax," she said, moving to his side. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to take this one step at a time. Before you try filling in the blanks, you need to know what triggered the memory loss, in the first place."

Though she was not telling him anything he had not already considered, Jarod shook his head. He knew, from experience, how destructive Lyle could be and the strength that was required to repair the damage. For the first time in his adult life, Jarod was afraid of examining things too closely. He was afraid he might not have the stamina necessary to recover.

"Sydney could help you."

"No!" he barked. "I won't involve Sydney. Not again."

Her instinct was to call him a moron but Miss Parker restrained herself. "Fine. So, if you don't want Sydney, who do you want? Dr. Kelly?"

"No," he murmured. "I want you."

* * *

Lyle snapped the cell phone closed as the older man emerged from the basement. 

"I am going to Delaware," he announced, shrugging into his jacket. "I have been summoned to a meeting at the Centre. It seems they have heard about Claire's demise."

Placing the empty syringe on the examination table, the doctor moved to the small sink and began washing his hands. "Considering your involvement in her death, are you sure you will be returning?"

"I was in the lobby when Claire was killed."

"That's right. I forgot, you told the police that Jarod was in the room with her at the time of her death. Correct me if I am wrong, Mr. Lyle, but the Centre believes Jarod to be dead," he pointed out, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "How will you explain his resurrection? Better yet, how will you explain the fact that it occurred at the same time you were in California? Coincidence?"

"Let me assure you that I have everything under control. At this point, there is no documentation that the authorities are looking for Jarod. The sketch and description that has been transmitted is so vague, it could be you."

"Or you," he muttered.

Lyle's eyes darkened as the man passed in front of him. "As long as you do as you are told, where Jarod is concerned, no one will ever catch Claire's killer. Jarod's future depends on you, Dr. Kelly."

"Of course it does."

The two men glared at each other for a moment, each standing their own ground. Finally, as the doctor moved toward the kitchen counter, Lyle asked, "Has the girl been cared for?"

"Yes," he sighed. Reaching for the still warm coffee pot, he glanced at Lyle over his shoulder as he filled a coffee mug. "She has been sedated. Again."

"How long will she be out?"

The man took another sip of his coffee and shook his head. "As long as necessary. I will continue to sedate her until it is no longer necessary."

He waited until the doctor was sitting at the table before approaching him. "I do not want her completely unconscious. She needs to be able to . . ."

"I know your plans for her," he hissed. "She will be capable of doing what you need."

"Good." Placing one hand on the back of the doctor's chair and the other on the edge of the table, he leaned forward and whispered, "I will be back in twenty-four hours which should give you plenty of time to lure the Lab Rat back to the cabin. The sooner he arrives, the more extra playtime you will have with him. Do not disappoint me, Doctor."

"He will be here."

"He had better be," Lyle murmured. Releasing the chair, he slid his hand under the man's chin and brought the old, grey eyes to his. "And he had better be ready to complete his task. I have put a lot of time and effort into conditioning him to perform."

Slapping his hand over Lyle's wrist, the doctor pushed it away and rose from his chair. "You have made him the number one suspect in a multiple murder investigation and, in the process, come very close to destroying him."

"I assure you, the Lab Rat is in no danger of being destroyed. He was raised in an environment that you cannot imagine, Dr. Kelly. Jarod is more than capable of handling a few gaps in his memory."

"You are wrong. I have spent countless hours with him. I know what he is able to endure. Exactly what do you hope to accomplish with these methods? Is your intent to break him mentally, as well as emotionally?"

"My plans for Jarod are not your concern," Lyle replied smoothly. "All you need to know is that if Jarod is not able to follow my orders, you will not like the way I handle the situation."

"Do not threaten me," he warned. "You would not want the police will know exactly who they are looking for, would you? Think of the domino effect it would have on your sophomoric explanation to the Centre. Maybe you should spend more time considering how you will handle _that _situation, when it comes, and less time worrying about how well I can manipulate Jarod."

"If I were you, I would be very careful about the threats I made, Doctor."

Meeting Lyle's dangerous stare with one of his own, a small grin playing on Phillip Kelly's lips. "Have a pleasant trip, Mr. Lyle."

* * *

"What did you find?" 

Debbie motioned for Emily to sit in front of the computer. "Meet Susan Pearce."

Emily sighed and leaned forward to read the information on the screen. Soon, though, her eyes darted from the words to the people standing around her.

"Jarod told me that one of the victims had two small children," she whispered, sadly turning her eyes back on the computer. "I guess he was referring to Susan."

"He was," Debbie nodded, "but that particular information about Susan was never reported."

"Jarod must have done the same research you did. He must have . . ."

"There was no indication on his hard drive that he had searched any computer database for information about the victims. Every article in his red notebooks were from newspapers."

"What are you saying, Debbie?" she dared, unaware that her voice was steadily rising. "Are you telling me that my brother hunted this woman down and killed her?"

Stunned by the vicious tone of the other woman, Debbie looked at her father. Immediately, Broots stepped to his daughter's side and placed a soft hand on Emily's arm. When Jarod's sister turned her attention on him, he said softly, "All we are telling you is that we confirmed there was a connection between Jarod and Susan Pearce."

Shaking her head, Emily started to rise from the chair but the technician's hand on her shoulder brought her to a halt. When she was sitting, he reached for the keyboard. Seconds later, a new document appeared and he looked back at the woman. "This is an email that Susan wrote to Jarod two weeks before her death. They knew each other, Emily. I'm sorry."

She stared at the screen, her eyes blurring as she tried to read the short message. Wiping her face, she took a deep breath and biting her lower lip, concentrated on the letters until they formed recognizable words.

_Jarod - thank you for taking the time to meet with me. The information you provided was invaluable and I look forward to talking with you again. Sincerely, Susan Pearce._

"Information? What information?" Emily asked softly.

"We don't know," Broots sighed, "but we think it has to do with a story she was writing. Susan Pearce was a reporter. As near as we can tell, when she was killed, she was doing a piece about stolen children."

* * *

He stood at the top of the stairs until he heard Lyle's car drive away. Then, slowly, the doctor descended into the damp cellar. Ignoring the bare light bulb that hung above the locked door, he turned his key and entered the small cell. 

She was unaware of his presence and, though he stood over her, he was uninterested in the woman. In the darkness, his mind was imagining the lines and length of the man who occupied the room before her.

"_Why are you doing to this to me?"_

"_I am trying to help you, Jarod. "_

"_By keeping me prisoner?"_

"_By keeping you safe," he promised. Crouching beside the man, he ran a soft hand down the length of the Pretender's arm, stopping when he reached the leather restraint around his wrist. "You are a dangerous man, Jarod."_

"_No."_

_His fingers slid over the man's fisted hand and squeezed it gently. "The sooner you accept what I am telling you, Jarod, the sooner you can return to your family without the fear of hurting them."_

"_I would never . . ."_

"_But, you have, Jarod," he murmured as his free hand began stroking the bound man's forehead. _

"_No."_

"_I am sure that, if you think about it, calmly, you can remember the pain you caused them. But they forgive you. They understand that you are ill, Jarod, and they want me to help you."_

_He smiled when the Pretender turned away and squeezed his eyes closed. Using the back of his hand, he gently traced the man's jaw, repeating his name softly, until the dark eyes were focused, once again, on him. _

"_It is going to be all right, Jarod," he promised. "I am here to help you."_

_Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, he retrieved the syringe and showed it to his captive. Immediately, the man tensed and pulled at the restraints. For a moment, he was mesmerized by the rippling of the muscles, the rapid breaths that drove the rise and fall of his chest, and the soft moan of frustration that escaped his lips._

"_Relax, Jarod. I promise that this will not hurt."_

_Placing his hand over the still tense, but restrained, arm, he slid the needle into the thick channel. As the drug emptied into his veins, Jarod's eyelids began to close. He blinked a few times, shaking his head then released a soft sigh. Just as his long lashes connected, however, the lids snapped open. Desperate, his dark eyes darted around the room, searching for refuge._

"_Don't fight it," he murmured. "Let the medication work. You want to be better, don't you, Jarod?"_

_Continuing the soft caress of the man's cheek and jaw, he waited until the Pretender was completely unconscious before moving to the foot of the cot. _

He remembered that first night with Jarod fondly but the subsequent nights were the ones that were the most productive, and enjoyable, for him.

With Lyle still incarcerated in Africa, and Jarod's family in Chicago, his access to the Pretender was limitless and he used the time to his advantage. Instructing the man to tell his family he would be camping and incommunicado, he cemented the foundation for Jarod's training over ten uninterrupted days. Looking back, he was confident that the success of the project could be traced to that moment in time, the moment Jarod surrendered.

He discovered that, by reducing or increasing the dosage of the sedative he'd designed especially for the man, he could control the Pretender's state of consciousness. Keeping him on the verge of total oblivion provided access to memories and fears that had been suppressed by the subject for years. In no time, he found that incorporating the dreaded black hood into their sessions made the man even more vulnerable. By the time he was ready to reinstate Lyle's 'Tell me who you are' demand into the routine, Jarod susceptibility to false memories had increased.

A soft smile emerged on the man's face as he recalled a personal benefit to Jarod's therapy. By allowing the man to be aware of what was happening to him, but limiting his ability to identify where it was occurring, or who was responsible, the act of collecting Jarod's DNA samples became much more enjoyable. Though he never permitted himself to cross the line, to physically enter the confused man, he took as many liberties as possible during his experiments with Jarod's mind and body.

The smile faded as thoughts of Lyle emerged. The moment the Chairman's son returned from Africa and began taking an active interest in the project, was the point at which he began losing control. If Lyle continued conditioning Jarod, by leaving blank holes in his memory, the doctor had no doubt that all his work, and Jarod's mind, would crumble. He would not allow that to happen.

"Soon, Jarod," he sighed, as headed for the stairs, "Soon, you and I will have uninterrupted time together and, I promise, it will be beneficial for us both."

* * *

Emily looked up as her parents entered the room. From the expressions on their faces, she had no doubt that they had heard most - if not all - of the conversation regarding Susan Pearce. Though they understood the importance of Debbie and Broots' findings, Adam, on the other hand, was confused. His eyes darted from Broots to Debbie to Emily twice before he finally settled on his sister and stepped up to the desk. 

"Why are we so interested in Susan Pearce?" he asked.

She looked helplessly at her parents and, in response, her father stepped to the boy's side. "Son, we need to talk. There are things you need to know."

Despite his protests, Adam followed his parents to the other room and sat quietly while the Major made every attempt to explain what was happening. Emily watched with concern from the inner office, debating with herself about whether or not she should join them.

"He will be all right."

Looking up, she forced a smile for Sydney then looked back at her brother. "We've thrown so much at him."

"I know," he sighed. "But he is a strong young man. Adam will make sense of it all."

"Well, when he does," she muttered, "I hope he teaches me how he did it."

The psychiatrist placed his hand on her shoulder and patted it gently. Though she didn't take her eyes off of her brother, she slid her hand over Sydney's. The connection was broken, however, the moment she saw Adam stand. Immediately, she did the same and watched her family approach.

"Is everything all right?"

Adam glanced at her and nodded. Then, turning his eyes on Debbie, he asked, "May I see the information you've compiled about each of the victims?"

* * *

"Have you completely lost your mind?" 

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I would not be surprised."

"I am not a psychiatrist, Jarod," she announced, grabbing his arm as he tried to rise from the sofa. "I am not trained to help you explore repressed memories. Do you realize the damage I could do to you?"

"You won't do any damage," he smiled. Returning to the seat beside her, he placed his hand over hers. "Don't worry. You may not be trained to handle this kind of situation, Parker, but I am. I just need you here for back up."

"Snap out of it, will you? You are not trained." Abruptly, she pulled her hand away from his and rose from the sofa. Looking down at him, she crossed her arms and said, "At the most, you have read a few books. You are a pretender, Jarod, not a psychiatrist. That crap about becoming anything you want is nothing but your own press. The truth is that you've been nothing more than lucky all these years."

"Remind me to talk to you about your opinion of my abilities," he frowned. Then, standing so they were eye to eye, he shot her a quick smile and added, "But, for now, just trust me. I can handle this."

"No."

"All I need you to do is listen. That's all," he assured her. Frustrated, she tried to move away from him, but Jarod quickly stepped in front of the woman, blocking her path. "I need someone I can trust to help me put the pieces together. You did it before, I know you can do it again."

"You have no idea what you're asking, do you?"

"Yes, I do," he answered softly. "I probably have no right to ask you but, please, stay with me. I need you."

Despite the intenseness of her glare, he held it with his own until he felt the warmth of her touch. Looking down, he found her hand over his. When he brought his gaze back to hers, she was bighting her lower lip. The defiance he had seen in her eyes had evaporated and, in its place, he saw uncertainty.

"Jarod, this is a big deal," she whispered, dropping back to the sofa.

"You can handle it," he smiled, sitting beside her. Then, gently squeezing her hand, he corrected himself, "**_We_** can handle it. Trust me, Parker. Trust us."

* * *

"Adam, it's after eleven." 

Pulling his attention from the computer monitor, he looked up as his mother entered the room. Forcing a smile as she approached, he dropped his gaze back to the displayed on the screen in front of him. Then, suddenly, his eyes darted back to hers.

"He knew them," he said softly. "Jarod knew them all."

"That doesn't mean he had anything to do with their deaths."

He nodded but did not look at her. "I know."

"Why don't you lay down? It's late . . ."

"Rose Barber was a realtor who was trying to buy the beach house," he murmured. "The first letter she sent him was postmarked less than a month before her death."

"Adam . . ."

"Jennifer Forrest was an artist," he continued. "I haven't figured out when they met but Jarod had one of her business cards hidden at the back of a drawer."

"Baby, let it go . . ."

"Susan Pearce was a reporter. According to the emails she sent Jarod, he had given her some kind of interview. Broots retrieved her story notes by accessing her computer at the Newspaper," he said, his eyes still trained on the photo. "I am sure it wasn't an easy task. It must have taken him a long time."

"Adam, you need to rest. Please."

He looked at his mother, his eyes showing the strain of staring at a computer display for too long. "She was working on a story about stolen children."

"I know," she nodded. Gently cupping the young man's face in her hands, she insisted, "None of it means he had anything to do with their deaths."

Placing his hands over hers, he drew them away and held them firmly in his lap. "What about Jillian? How does she fit in?"

"Jillian?"

"Jillian Kincade." Seeing the confusion on his mother's face, he pointed to the photo. "According to Debbie's information, the airplane tickets that brought you here were paid for with Jillian's credit card. Does she look familiar to you?"

Margaret stared at the photo and shook her head. "I have never seen her before."

"She is originally from Milwaukee but has lived here for almost ten years. She attends the University at night. She works at the local telephone company," he continued, bringing up document after document that held Jillian's name. Then, suddenly, his eyes darted away from the screen. "Jarod. I was supposed to call Jarod."

"You can call him in the morning."

"No," he whispered, reaching for his cell phone. "I need to talk to him now. I need to ask him . . ."

Margaret slid her hand over his, and easily slipped the phone from his grasp. With the other hand, she reached over and turned off the monitor. When he opened his mouth to protest, she smiled at him and placed a finger over his lips.

"It's late," she whispered. "You can ask Jarod about these women when you talk to him in the morning. Right now, you need to rest."

"But . . ."

"Adam, please. I know you want to help your brother but, for now, he's safe. Miss Parker will not let anything happen to him."

* * *

Using her free hand, Miss Parker pulled the blanket to his shoulders. He shifted in the chair as his head rocked to the right. When he murmured something she couldn't make out, and his hand involuntarily squeezed hers, she smiled and stroked his forehead. 

"It's been a long night, hasn't it?" she whispered tiredly. "Go back to sleep. I will be here when you wake up."

In response, the Pretender let out a soft sigh.

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer in part 1

Note: I know it's short; but I promise the next chapter will be much longer. Thanks for your patience.

**Survival II - Retribution**  
by imagine

Part 19/?

Day 6

Jarod's memories, as disconnected as they were, had taken hold of her emotions with more force than Miss Parker thought was possible. The more she wanted to help him, the more her confidence faded. As she stood under the warm spray of the showerhead, unsure if she was hoping the water would clear her head or incite logical thought.

Twisting the knobs on the wall until the water trickled to a stop, she stepped from the stall and quickly wrapped herself in an oversized towel. When the air conditioner kicked in, and cool air burst through the vents of the small room, she gathered her things and stepped into the bedroom to avoid the chill.

The clock by the bed told her it was barely nine thirty and, for some reason, this realization was frustrating. Despite their best efforts, she and Jarod were no closer to answers than they were when she agreed to his plan twelve hours before.

He dozed sporadically, but his REM cycle was always interrupted by nightmares so brutal, he was unable to speak when he woke. His face and chest were drenched in sweat, his hands trembled so violently he could not hold a cup and, worse of all, his eyes held the same pain she'd seen after his escape from Lyle's cabin.

"_Tell me about the nightmares. Maybe they hold some clue to your memory lapses. If your subconscious . . ."_

"_No," he murmured, as he moved to the sliding doors. "I won't go there with you, Parker."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because my dreams have nothing to do with the missing blocks of time," he insisted, firmly. When he faced her, though, Jarod's expression was soft. "We need to concentrate on my waking hours. It's the only way I can protect my brother."_

"_Everything inside of me is telling me that your nightmares are the key to this," she told him. "Humor me."_

"_No."_

"_Why are you being so difficult? We've been at this for hours and we've made absolutely no progress. It was your idea that I help you, Jarod, why won't you cooperate with me? What do you . . .?"_

_The sharp gaze that found hers effectively kept her from continuing. Cooperate. Instantly, she realized that she'd used the word Lyle had berated him with for months. It was the one word that could trigger more memories for him than any other stimuli but she had not used it intentionally. _

"_I'm sorry," she murmured as he stepped on to the balcony. "I didn't mean . . ."_

_Before she could complete the apology, Jarod closed the door between them, his eyes trained on the dark waves of the ocean. Instead of following him and forcing him to listen to her, she had retreated to the sanctuary of a hot shower._

Sighing heavily, Miss Parker finished dressing and stepped into the hall. Though she still felt guilt for using the word that had caused him so much pain as Lyle's captive, the knot in her stomach had loosened considerably. She could only hope he had benefitted, as well, from their cooling off period.

"Jarod, the shower is free, if you're interested."

As she moved from the hall to the kitchen, her eyes slid to the balcony when there was no response. Though the drapes were drawn, they fluttered slightly.

"Jarod?"

Suddenly, the guilt she'd felt earlier was replaced with annoyance. She would not be ignored. She would not let him shut her out because of an offense for which she had already tried to apologize. Her determination to confront him, however, was interrupted by her cell phone.

"What?" she demanded, when she found the device on the kitchen counter.

"Miss Parker?"

"Yes, what is it, Sydney?" She turned toward the balcony doors and, once more, started toward them as she waited for the man to respond.

"Have you heard from Adam?"

"Adam?" she repeated, stopping at the edge of the sofa. "Isn't he with you?"

"I am afraid not. It seems he left during the night," he replied sadly. "His mother thinks he might be on his way to see Jarod."

Her brows furrowed at the logic. "How would he know where to find Jarod? He's never been to my apartment."

"We don't know. Can I assume, by your response, that you have not heard from him?"

"No, I haven't heard from him," she sighed. Rubbing her forehead, she continued toward the balcony and tugged at the sliding door. "Hang on. I'll ask Jarod if . . .Damn it!"

"Miss Parker? Miss Parker, what's wrong?"

"He's gone," she hissed, slamming the balcony doors. "He snuck out on me while I was in the shower!"

"Jarod is gone?"

Hearing the concern in the older man's voice, she took a deep breath and replied, "He couldn't have gotten very far. I'll call you as soon as I find him."

Before Sydney could reply, the woman disconnected the call. While her mind raced with places the Pretender might have gone, she retrieved her car keys and jacket from the bedroom. Seconds later, she hurriedly pulled at the front door and let out a soft cry of surprise.

* * *

_Jarod woke with a start, instinctively pulling at the padded restraints that held his wrists to the chair. Though he did not make an audible sound, his breaths deteriorated into quick, shallow spurts and his struggles increased as he became aware of the straps against his chest and ankles. When the door to the dark cell opened, the Pretender froze, his gaze trained on the approach of the new arrival. He turned away when a plastic cup was brought to his lips, but a soft touch on his cheek silently demanded he sip at the drink._

"_Better?"_

_Jarod nodded hesitantly as the cup was withdrawn, then looked down at the cuffs that held his wrists in place. "Why am I restrained?"_

"_After your reaction during our first session, we agreed that restraints would be used for all future discussions. Don't you remember?"_

_Jarod's eyes narrowed at the question, then darted around the room. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he searched both the images in his mind and his sparse surroundings. Though he did his best to keep his expression hard, and directed away from his visitor, Jarod faltered the moment a hand was placed on his thigh. When he dropped his gaze to the point of contact, he found the other man crouched in front of him._

"_Answer me, Jarod. Are you having trouble with your memory?"_

"_Exactly how long have I been your prisoner?" he demanded, ignoring the calmly stated question._

"_You are not my prisoner. You are my patient and your recovery depends upon your cooperation," he corrected firmly. "We had this discussion when you arrived, four days ago, Jarod."_

_The Pretender flinched at the words. "I've been here for four days?"_

"_That's right."_

_Jarod shook his head, then turned his attention on the makeshift bed. "Who moved me from the cot to the chair?"_

_Though his hand slid from Jarod's lap, the man purposely stepped into the Pretender's line of vision. "You stood and walked to the chair on your own power, just as you have for all our sessions."_

"_How many sessions have we had?"_

"_Jarod, if you are suffering from memory loss again, I need to know so . . ."_

"_Answer me!" he growled. "How many sessions have we had, Philip?"_

"_We have one three-hour session a day, Jarod." Without softening his superior tone, he added, "And, we agreed to keep our relationship clinical. You should be referring to me as Dr. Kelly."_

_Jarod said nothing, his eyes glistening in the dim light as they moved around the room. Other than the cot, which was adorned with its own set of restraints, and the chair he was currently tethered to, there were no furnishings. The small window in the door, which would have been eye level if he were standing, offered little light and, if the single bulb lamp in the ceiling had a switch, it was on the other side of the door. _

_With each observation, the Pretender felt his stomach flip uneasily. "What do we discuss during these sessions?"_

"_A variety of things," the man sighed. "Today, you were telling me about how you felt during your kidnapping."_

"_Which one?" he hissed, glaring at the man. "The one when I was a child and locked away at the Centre? The one when I was an adult and made Lyle's prisoner at his cabin? Or the one that brought me here and made me your captive?"_

_Philip hesitated, his eyes studying Jarod's face for a long moment before sadly shaking his head, sadly. "It seems that I have overestimated your limits, again." _

_Retrieving a black bag from beneath the cot, he continued gently, "You are obviously overtaxed, Jarod, and I'm sorry. I should have realized that you were having difficulties and done something to alleviate them earlier."_

_The moment Jarod saw the syringe, the man's words were lost to him. His breaths were once again convulsive and, though his attempt to free himself from the chair became more desperate, his voice was eerily calm. "No. No drugs." _

"_I know you don't like the treatments but they are necessary, Jarod. It is obvious that the memory loss you experienced after our first session has returned but, I promise, this will help ease your anxiety so that we can continue our session." _

"_No."_

_Running a soft hand down his captive's face, he gripped Jarod's jaw. "If you want to see your family, Jarod, and be confident that you will not hurt them again, you need to stop fighting me. You do want to get better, don't you? You want to understand what has happened to you, right?"_

_Still trapped in the doctor's grasp, Jarod hesitated then nodded awkwardly._

"_I thought so," he grinned. Stroking the lightly stubbled face once more, he brought his hand to the man's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Now, relax. This won't hurt."_

_The Pretender tensed at the touch but did not offer any resistance as the needle invaded his body. By the time the syringe was empty, his eyes began to close and the rise and fall of his chest regulated. His relaxation was short lived, however. After only a few minutes, Jarod was brought back to the brink of the conscious world with a light slap across the face. "You know the rules, you must stay awake. You pay attention."_

_When the dark eyes met his, the doctor nodded his approval "Now, I want you to go back to that night when you were five years old. Tell me what you were feeling as you were tucked in your bed."_

_Jarod frowned at the man and listlessly shook his head._

"_The sooner we get through this, Jarod, the sooner you can rest."_

_When Jarod felt the caress on the abused area of his face, he pulled away and, though his lips parted, he said nothing. Instead, the Pretender released a defeated, but guttural sigh._

"_I know it is difficult for you to discuss that night," the man cooed, the back of his hand moving gently from Jarod's cheek to his forehead. "But, your mother is very worried about you, Jarod. You don't want me to tell her that you're not being cooperative, do you? You are her little boy. She would be so disappointed."_

"_My mother told me she was proud of me."_

"_That was a very long time ago," he pointed out, brushing the dark locks of hair from Jarod's eyes. "Make her proud now. Tell me what you were feeling as you were tucked into your bed."_

_The Pretender hesitated for only a moment before reluctantly whispering, "I was supposed to start school the next day. I was excited. My mother told me I was special. She told me she was proud of me."_

_Ignoring the man's attempt to reassure himself, Philip spoke with a firm clip, designed to bring Jarod's thoughts back to him. "Look at me, Jarod, and speak up. What happened after you were left alone?" _

"_I heard noises at the window." He saw the doctor frown as his words continued to fade but Jarod could not find the strength to sustain a confident tone. "I was frightened. I didn't understand what was happening."_

"_You are a very intelligent man, Jarod. You were a very intelligent boy. You understood."_

_The Pretender swallowed hard and shook his head. When his eyes began to close, another slap across the face brought the dark, confused orbs into view but the Pretender remained silent. _

"_The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can rest. What happened after you heard the noises?" _

_Jarod licked his lips. His eyes closed again and his head bobbed forward only to be jerked upright when Philip gripped his hair and tugged it violently. _

"_I was pulled from my bed," he whispered hastily. "They told me if I called out, someone would get hurt."_

"_Did you believe they would hurt you?"_

"_I don't know. Maybe. I was frightened. I was a child. The men seemed stronger and bigger than anyone I had ever seen." Unable to turn away because of the tight grip that held him still, Jarod drew his hands into fists. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I want to sleep."_

"_You felt helpless."_

"_Yes."_

"_You felt helpless and afraid but you did not call out for help. You gave those men control of your life."_

"_No." He tried to shake his head, but the doctor held him in place. "They took it. They took me."_

"_That's right. They took you, Jarod. They changed your identity," he pressed, seeing the man's eyes fill with tears of frustration. "What kind of child did you become that night? What kind of child has no control?"_

_Jarod hesitated. "I don't know what . . ."_

"_Yes, you do," he snarled, pressing his free hand over the man's mouth. "I know it's difficult for you to admit but, the sooner you tell me, the sooner you can begin to heal. What kind of child did you become that night?"_

"_A stolen child," he whispered, when Philip's hand slowly moved from his mouth. "I became a stolen child."_

Sighing contentedly, he pressed the key that froze the recording. Despite what he had told Jarod, the session took place eighteen hours after his arrival at the cabin, not four days later. Coaxing the admission that he was a stolen child from Jarod's lips had been the result of hourly injections, sleep deprivation and numerous physical and emotional manipulations. It had also been the first, and most important, step in the process to gain control of the man.

"I hope you understand," he said, gently tracing the Pretender's profile. "I had a very strict time line to which to adhere. I had to lie to you. It was important that you be dependant on me and, to do that, I had to bring you back to that turning point in your life and change what it did to you. As long the core of your identity is a helpless, frightened, stolen child, I will hold the key to your thoughts and memories."

Rising from his place at the desk, he left the image on the computer screen and moved to the kitchen. Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he glanced at his watch and frowned. He had hoped that Jarod would have returned by now. He needed as much time as possible with the man if he had any hope of minimizing the damage Lyle had inflicted.

The thought of attempting another call to the cell phone did not sit well with him. Considering Miss Parker had answered the last time, there was a good chance the woman now had possession of the phone.

Turning, he leaned against the counter and stared at the frozen image for a moment before crossing the room. "If you are not here in an hour, Jarod, I will have no choice but to come and get you."

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here? You've got everyone worried about you." 

"I'm sorry," he replied, moving into the apartment. "But, I need to talk with Jarod."

"Well, you're too late. He's not here," she growled. "Boy Wonder decided to pull another disappearing act while I was in the shower."

Adam's eyes widened as he met the woman's gaze. "We have to find him."

Biting back the barbed response that came to mind, she closed the door and pointed toward the sofa. "I will find him. He's only got a fifteen minute head start. In the meantime, you are going to call your parents and tell them you're safe."

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," she countered firmly. "You're going to sit here and wait for me. Do not leave. Is that clear?"

"In case you missed it, Miss Parker, I am not a child," he shot back, using a deep, warning voice. His arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread far enough to stabilize his stance. "Either you take me with you, or I will search for Jarod on my own. Take your pick. Which is it going to be?"

"How did you find me, anyway?" she asked, avoiding the question. "The only person who knows about this apartment is Jarod, and he just found out last night."

Adam grinned and shrugged. "All I had to do was retrieve your number from the Caller ID on Mr. Broots' phone and access your account information with the wireless company."

She raised an eyebrow and glared at him. "What if my billing address had been a Post Office Box?"

"It would have taken me a few minutes longer," he admitted. "I would have had to access those records, as well."

She stared at him a moment then stepped further into the room. "You make it sound easy."

"It is. Now, stop stalling, Miss Parker," he said, when she moved to the desk. "The longer you avoid answering my question, the more distance Jarod puts between us."

"Can you do that with any cell phone number?" she asked, opening the top drawer.

"Of course," he replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "But . . ."

"Prove it," she demanded. Grabbing the device in the drawer, she tossed it at the young man. "Tell me who owns this phone, and where they live. Also, check out any numbers on the Caller ID."

"Later," he growled, sliding the phone onto the table. "Right now, we need to find Jarod."

"That's exactly what you will be doing," she told him as she headed for the door.

"How is tracing the owner of this phone going to help Jarod?" he demanded. Grabbing her arm as she passed him, the young man held her firmly until the warning in her eyes made him loosen his grip. "You can't shut me out, Miss Parker. Jarod is my brother."

She sighed heavily and wiped her face with both hands. "We don't have time for this," she told him as she pulled open the door. "I will explain everything later. Right now, you need to trust me, Adam. My gut is telling me that the information on that cell phone will lead us to Jarod."

He swallowed hard and looked at the device in his hand.

"Call me as soon as you have the information."

"Where are you going?"

"To find Jarod."

"But I can have the information you need in less than an hour," he said, holding out the phone. "Why don't you just wait?"

"Jarod may not have that much time," she said, glancing at him as she pulled open the door. His lost expression brought her to a sudden halt. "Adam, it's going to be all right. Regardless of what you find on that cell phone, we will find him."

"How can you be so sure? You don't even know where to look for him."

"Trust me. I have found your brother more times than I can count, with much less to go on," she laughed, as she stepped into the hall. "Anything you uncover will quicken the results, though, so stop standing there and get to work."

* * *

Jarod paid the driver and stood at the side of the road until the taxi disappeared around a bend. When he was alone, he backtracked about a hundred yards, until he was no longer standing at the peak of the overpass. The property on the far side of the metal guard railing consisted of tall, water-deprived stalks of grass that, in the soft breeze, resembled the photos on motivational posters. 

Crossing the guard rail, Jarod moved slowly down the steep incline that led from the road. Once he was on level ground, his pace increased and, soon, the Pretender found himself at the wide creek that sliced diagonally through the field. Though the drought had left the banks shallow, there was enough moisture left in the ground for the edges of Jarod's shoes to cake with mud. Glancing in both directions, he headed upstream and followed the rocky path that led him to the wooded bluff that overlooked the distant house.

* * *

"Dad, it's me." 

"Adam! Where are you?" the Major demanded. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm at Miss Parker's apartment helping her find Jarod."

The Major let out a heavy sigh of relief then nodded at his wife as she sat beside him. Murmuring that their son was safe, he brought the phone back to his ear and adopted a firmer tone with the young man. "Do you have any idea how worried we have been? When we discovered you were gone . . ."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just needed to talk with Jarod."

"What was so urgent that you couldn't do it over the phone? Or that you couldn't at least tell us where you were going?"

"If I'd told you, you wouldn't have let me go," Adam countered. "And I needed to see Jarod's reaction to the photo of Jillian. I think he must know her."

"And, so what if he does?" the Major shot back. "Your brother knows a lot of people, Adam."

"Her credit card paid for . . ."

"Yes, I know. Your mother told me. But, I still don't understand why this was so urgent you had to sneak out."

"I told you - I was afraid you wouldn't let me go and it's important that we figure out his connection to Jillian right away."

"Why?"

"Because Jarod is missing again and, so is she, Dad," he sighed. "I came across the Missing Person's report this morning. Jillian hasn't been seen for three days."

The Major slid his fingers through his hair. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried, it was getting more and more difficult to defend his son. Each time he was convinced Jarod was on solid ground, he was presented with more secrets, more information that could damage his oldest child's future.

"Are you telling me that you think your brother had something to do with her disappearance?"

"No, of course not," Adam insisted. "But I think someone wants it to look as if he did."

"Why? Why would someone want to frame your brother for the deaths of these women?"

"I don't know but if we don't find out the truth soon, one way or another, it's going to destroy him."

When there was no immediate response from his father, Adam took a deep breath. It was obvious that he was providing too much information, too quickly and overwhelming his father. Though his career in the military had taught him to react quickly to stressful situations, his Centre's hold over his family had made him cautious over the years. The Major needed time to process the information, emotionally as well as mentally.

Using a softer tone, Adam attempted to shift the focus from the unknown perils surrounding his brother. "Have you heard from your contact at the phone company? Do you know where Dr. Kelly is forwarding his calls to?"

Pulling his thoughts from Adam's theory regarding the murders, the Major nodded. "She called about twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately, the number the calls are being forwarded to is unassigned in her database."

"How is that possible? Didn't you tell me that an answering device picked up when you dialed the number? It must be active."

"She's going to check repair and installation records to see how long the number has unassigned," he sighed. "If she can track down the order that pulled it from the database, she might be able to figure out where it's actually working."

"How long will that take?"

"At least a few hours," the Major replied. "In the meantime, Broots is trying to access the phone company network himself. Rather than trying to find out the location and billing information of the number, he's hoping he can trace the line through incoming and outgoing calls."

Adam nodded to himself and added sadly, "Assuming that there are any. If the line is dedicated to receive only calls from the doctor's office, there will be no data."

"I know, but we have to try."

* * *

It took Miss Parker only a few minutes to discover that Jarod had hired one of the taxis waiting at the stand in front of her building. Locating the driver, however, had taken almost an hour and several calls to his dispatcher.. When the man - Peter Webb - finally arrived, his mood matched Miss Parker's. 

"Look, Lady," he said, handing Jarod's photo back to her, "all I can tell you is that I dropped him off about twenty miles from here, and he paid the fare. Other than that . . ."

"What was the address?"

"There wasn't an address. He asked me to drop him off in the middle of Hancock Road. When I told him I couldn't get a fare back, he paid double."

Miss Parker frowned. "Can you take me there?"

"Sure," he smiled, opening the backdoor. "Hop in."

She shook her head and pushed the door closed. "I'll follow you in my car. Wait here."

"Forget it. You either get in the cab, and pay the fare, or you can find the spot yourself."

Raising an eyebrow, she reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved several large bills. Pushing one of them into his hand, she said, "You'll get one more, just like this, when we get to the place you left Jarod."

Smiling at the cash in his hand, the man nodded. "Lady, you got a deal."

* * *

Despite the fact she could barely lift her head without assistance, the woman tried to pull away when the cool cloth gently slid down the side of her face. It lingered over her lips, allowing a little bit of moisture to the bruised and cracked skin, then moved to her neck. 

"Please," she whispered. "I won't . . . tell. Please. I . . .just want to go home."

"I know you do, my dear." He dipped the cloth into the small bowl of water before bringing it to her forehead. "I am sorry."

"Please."

"It will all be over soon," he promised as he wiped her brow. "In the meantime, just rest."

Bringing the cloth to arm, he slid it to the crook of her elbow. She tensed in his hold, knowing the prick of the needle would soon follow, but did not voice an objection. As the sedative drained into her body, he watched the woman's eyes close and sighed, wondering if she was truly aware of her fate.

Rising from the edge of the cot, he gathered his supplies and moved into the hall, closing the door behind him. Allowing himself one more glance at her, through the small window, he shook his head sadly then turned and took the steps two at a time. As he crossed the threshold from the basement to his office, he smiled at the figure sitting in the chair at the center of the room.

"Thank you for being so patient," he said, moving through the room to the kitchen. Sliding his tray of supplies onto the table, he faced his guest and continued conversationally, "I had an urgent matter to that needed to be tended to before our session could begin."

Though the man said nothing, his dark eyes followed the doctor's movements as he reentered the office with a bottle of water.

"Drink this," he said, placing the container in his guests hands. "It may be overcast today, but the humidity is high and you've had a long hike. We wouldn't want you to get dehydrated."

While the man in the chair did as he was told, the doctor smiled. "I am very pleased, Jarod. I was hoping that you would not make me come looking for you. Lyle called. He will be back in less than six hours, so we do not have much time. As soon as you finish your drink, I want you to move to the examination table. It is time for us to get to work."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II - Retribution  
by imagine

Part 20/?

She stared at the view from the overpass, then turned and scanned the opposite direction. Peripherally, she saw the cab driver standing to her left but Miss Parker's thoughts were more focused on the place he claimed he'd left Jarod. Though there appeared to be nothing but a dark trail that ran beneath the bridge, there was something very familiar about the spot.

"Are you sure this is where he told you to let him out?"

"Positive."

"How long ago?"

"No more than an hour and a half."

She sighed and faced the man who was now leaning patiently against the trunk of his car. "I don't suppose he mentioned why he was coming here, or where he was ultimately headed."

The man began shaking his head before she completed the statement. "Other than giving me directions, he didn't say much of anything. He looked like he had a lot on his mind."

"He always does," she murmured, gazing back at the field of tall grass.

* * *

Hacking into the wireless company records had not been difficult, however finding the subscriber records associated with the phone Miss Parker had provided him had been much more challenging. Like the land line records that his father's contact at the local phone company was attempting to trace, the cell phone appeared in the wireless records as disconnected. After more than an hour of searching through the maze of order activity that included number changes, service alterations and other modifications to the billing information, Adam was finally able to smile proudly and sit back in his seat. 

"Gotcha."

But, as the data on the monitor began to penetrate his mind, the young man's smile began to fade. He leaned forward, examined the information, frowned and tapped a new command into the computer. Adam's grin still did not reappear. Grabbing his own phone, he quickly dialed Miss Parker's number.

"What did you find?" she asked, in lieu of her typical greeting.

"The phone is listed to Dr. Kelly," he told her, "and the billing address is . . . Blue Cove."

Miss Parker pulled her gaze away from the taxi, as it disappeared around the bend and pressed the phone closer to the ear. "Are you telling me that the Centre is paying the bill? Why didn't we know, before this, that Kelly and the Centre were in cahoots?"

"We ran a check on Dr. Kelly when he first started visiting Jarod at the hospital," the boy countered. "There was no connection between him and the Centre."

"That was over a year ago. Obviously, something has changed."

"But, we did another check after Jarod decided to replace Sydney as his therapist," the boy insisted, rising from the desk chair. "Both Broots and I ran separate searches. We came up with nothing."

Without turning away from the field, she considered his words as her eyes followed the cyclists that suddenly appeared on the trail. "Then, maybe the partnership isn't with the Centre."

"What do you mean? I just told you . . ."

"Did we ever check for a personal connection to Lyle?"

"A personal connection," he repeated, softly. "You think that Lyle is doing all of this on his own?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. Where, specifically, is the bill sent?"

Quickly moving back to the computer, he looked down at the account. "There is no name, just the address. It is sent to Section 47A."

"Lyle's office is at the very end of section 47A," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Turning toward the field that ran beneath the overpass, she rested a fisted hand on the cement railing and hissed, "Damn it! They're working together."

"But, Lyle was in Africa until a few months ago," he countered weakly.

"And, in those few months, Jarod's life has been turned inside out."

"Oh, God," he whispered, letting his words fade as he lowered himself to chair. "If you're right . . . after everything Lyle did to Jarod, after all the threats he made against me and my family, I should have . . ."

"Stop it! None of us considered Lyle a threat." Though she adopted a low growl to shake the young man from his self-berating, similar thoughts were running through her own mind. She knew what her twin was capable of. She should have done more to protect Jarod. "So, unless you have developed psychic tendencies that I don't know about, you do not get to take the blame. Do you understand?"

The echoes of his breaths through the phone were the only indication he was still on the line. It wasn't his silence that unnerved her, though. Her instincts told her that the young man Jarod referred to as his brother was trying to do what the Centre had trained him to do – he was running a simulation. Unfortunately, even she knew that his efforts would be skewed by his emotions. Unlike Jarod, Adam had never learned the art of separating himself from a situation.

"Stay with me, Adam," she ordered as she moved to where her car was parked. "We'll figure out their motives, later. Right now, we need to find Jarod and we need to find the solid evidence that links Lyle and Dr. Kelly. Once we find that, we may be able to find a way to take them down."

Taking a deep breath, the young man nodded and, in a tired voice, asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Look into the Doctor's personal records - bank statements, email, and credit card bills, anything you can find. Tell Broots to help you. Somewhere, there is a paper trail that connects him to my brother. I'll call you for an update in thirty minutes."

"Wait!" he called. "Where are you going?"

"I am going to get Jarod," she said, as she watched another mountain bike move down the path.

* * *

The Pretender looked up and, instantly, his serene expression gave way to confusion. "Philip?"

"Yes, Jarod, I'm here. You are safe."

Their eyes met briefly but, instead of dropping his eyes submissively, per the edicts of his training, the Pretender split his attention between scanning his surroundings and inspecting the straps that held him to the chair. When he leaned forward, adding pressure to the belt across his chest in an attempt to break their hold, and began struggling angrily against his wrist restraints, a warning hand on his forearm brought Jarod's eyes back to his captor.

"Undo the restraints," he ordered, still pulling on the padded leather cuffs that held his wrist and ankles against the chair. "And, tell me what's going on. Where am I? How did I get here?"

The doctor's smile was small, secretive and far from comforting. Sliding his hand from the man's arm, he calmly moved to the chair situated behind his captive, out of Jarod's line of vision. The Pretender twisted his body as much as the restraints allowed, struggling for a glimpse of the doctor while repeating his demand to be answered and released. Finally, when his muscles began to ache and he heard the frustration building in his own voice, Jarod let out a defeated sigh and dropped his jaw to his chest.

"Are you ready to begin?"

"Begin?" Lifting his head slightly, he looked up as the doctor moved beside him. "Begin what?"

"Why, your session, of course. Judging by your outburst, we have a lot of ground to cover today." Crouching in front of the man, the doctor placed both hands on Jarod's thighs and, in a concerned voice, asked, "You are having trouble with your memory again, aren't you? We will work on . . ."

"We will work on nothing," he spat, tugging on the restraints. "You seem to have forgotten that you are no longer my therapist, Philip. I fired you."

"Relax, Jarod," he cooed, sliding his hands along the man's legs. "Getting upset, this way, is counter productive. I do not want to have to sedate you. Take a deep breath. You trust me, remember?"

Ignoring the disturbing feelings that were being brought on by the other man's touch, Jarod continued in a low voice, "I fired you because I did not like your treatment methods. I did not like being restrained like an animal every time we met. I did not like being drugged or made to feel like a frightened child both during and after our sessions. Trusting you was the biggest mistake I could have made."

"And, yet, here you are," he pointed out, rising to his full height. "The fact is that you sought me out this time, Jarod. You allowed me to restrain you. Obviously, there is a part of you that wants my assistance."

Jarod gritted his teeth and looked away, unable to formulate a response. He had no memory of leaving Miss Parker's apartment, let alone arriving at the cabin. In fact, he had no memory of a conscious decision – or even a passing thought – that would have brought him to the man standing in front of him. But, despite the fact he found nothing in his mind to contradict the doctor, Jarod refused to accept what he was being told.

"Now, let's begin, shall we? As I said, we have a lot of ground to cover today."

"I do not know how you got me here, but I do know I did not come of my own free will," he ground out. "Remove the restraints. I want to leave."

Reaching out, the doctor captured Jarod's chin and forced the dark gaze to his face. His expression was dark, menacing and, for a brief moment, Jarod felt his breath catch in his chest.

"Understand this: We are not here on your terms, Jarod, we are here on mine. Our sessions will continue until I say otherwise." Tightening his grip on the Pretender as Jarod tried to pull away, he continued hotly, "You are to refer to me as "Sir", "Doctor" or "Dr. Kelly". You are not permitted to use my first name, make a demand or question my directives."

Jarod's eyes narrowed and his hands curled into fists as he listened to the man's thinly veiled threat. Waiting until he was roughly released, he replied in a deep, taunting and equally demanding voice, "What do you mean - we are here on _your_ terms? Was I right when I accused you of keeping me prisoner, all those times, or is this a new development in our association, _Philip_?"

Though he knew he could easily make the man as submissive as he wanted, by enacting the hypnotic state, the doctor resisted the urge. He was tired of the man's arrogance, bored with his sanctimonious judgments, and frustrated by his stubbornness. It was time to start taking control of the man without the use of drugs or hypnosis.

"Our association has not changed, Jarod. I am your therapist and, judging by your behavior, I am the only person standing between you and complete insanity," he warned, watching as his prisoner's facial, neck and shoulder muscles rippled with frustration. "Your bouts with amnesia are obviously getting worse and, no doubt, are the result of the traumas you experienced as a child under Sydney's care and, as an adult, under Lyle's. Without my help, your mind will continue to deteriorate until your family will have no choice but to institutionalize you, for your safety, as well as theirs."

"Leave my family out of this," he warned, his dark eyes suddenly flashing with renewed strength. "If you hurt them . . ."

"You are here because _you_ are the threat to them, Jarod, not me."

"No," he breathed.

"Of course you are – that's why you are here. You came to me because you are afraid of hurting them anymore than you already have."

Jarod hesitated then looked away. "You're wrong."

He smiled at the dwindling confidence in the Pretender's voice. "You know, deep down, that I am telling the truth. I want to help you, Jarod, but, in return, I expect better behavior. I expect respect and I expect you to follow the rules I have laid out."

"And, if I refuse?"

"You are much too smart to refuse. Now, let's begin."

Jarod clenched his fists and forced the confidence back into his voice. "I already told you that I will not be a willing participant in whatever it is you have planned."

"And, I already told you that our sessions will continue until_ I_ say otherwise." Reaching into the black medical bag sitting at Jarod's feet, he retrieved a small vial and syringe. "Perhaps, it is time I resort to the treatment you hate so much. If you sit back and relax, it will be easier on you."

Jarod eyed the drug as it was transferred from the vial to the needle. His eyes widened and his mouth suddenly went dry, but he said nothing.

"I know it is difficult for you to relinquish control," Philip continued, adopting a calmer but no less threatening tone, "but, if you ever want to see your family again, if you ever want them to be proud of you again, you will do as you are told."

"I fired you," he protested, weakly.

"Then tell me why you came here," he taunted. Laying the syringe on the man's leg, he smiled inwardly at Jarod's sharp intake of breath. "Tell me what you expected from me, when you made the decision to come here."

Jarod glanced at the man then turned away. "I did not make the decision to come here."

The doctor smiled and stepped closer to his charge. "So, I was right. You are having difficulties with your memory again."

"No," he lied, in a small voice. Then, looking up, he found a darker, stronger tone and said, "But, even if I was, I would not need your help. I can work through it on my own."

Circling the bound man, Philip stepped behind the chair and placed his hands on his captive's shoulders. He felt the man flinch at the touch and, leaning forward, added pressure to the muscles he knew Lyle had already abused. "You are not capable of doing this on your own, Jarod. You are afraid of what you will learn about yourself. You need me to keep you whole."

Jarod's eyes found the mirror on the far wall. Positioned so that it held only his reflection, he stared at his own dark eyes and shook his head.

"You may be a genius and a trained Pretender, Jarod, but you will never have complete control. It is beyond your abilities," he murmured.

"Nothing is beyond my abilities," he replied, still searching his own reflection.

"You have an abundance of bravado; I will give you that." Massaging the thick muscles beneath his fingers, Philip felt Jarod tense at the words a split second before he added, "But I am getting bored with this little debate. It's time we got to work."

"The Pretender twisted out of the other man's hold and glared at him over his shoulder. I will not allow you . . ."

"You have no choice," he growled, grabbing the man's arms from behind. "A stolen child has no control."

Though the tension in Jarod's muscles did not disappear completely, Philip felt the man's body shift. Instead of sitting upright, using a defiant and angry posture, he slumped forward slightly, as if he were suddenly unsure.

"I am a stolen child," he repeated in respectful and submissive tone.

"That's right," Philip whispered. Releasing the man, he stepped in front of Jarod. Though the Pretender did not make direct eye contact, the doctor rewarded him with a smile of approval. "You are a stolen child, Jarod. You will obey me. You will do whatever I tell you, without question. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Good boy, Jarod." Reveling in the sound of his title rolling from the Pretender's lips, Philip pulled the chair he had positioned behind the man and set it down at Jarod's left. "Now, I want you to tell me where you were, and who you were with, before you arrived here today."

"I was with Miss Parker," he replied, his gaze still trained on the reflection in the mirror. "I was at her apartment."

* * *

Lyle stepped on to the Centre jet with the same confidence he had exuded when he exited. Things were finally going his way. Raines and, more importantly, the Triumvirate, may not have been completely satisfied with his explanation of Claire's death but, as he had hoped, the information he'd given was more than enough for them to accept his story for the time being. By the time their nagging suspicions turned into undeniable proof of his betrayal, he would be long gone and, with the help of his personal Pretender, he would disappear from the Centre radar forever. 

Glancing at his watch, he crossed to the small bar and poured himself a glass of Scotch before settling into the comfortable recliner at the center of the cabin. The pilot had already confirmed that the weather between Delaware and California was not only clear but that they expected a reduced flying time. Allowing for traffic, he would arrive at the house well before sundown and in plenty of time to watch Jarod finally complete his assigned task.

Sipping at the drink, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Everything was going as planned.

The dirt road that doubled as a driveway was more than a mile long and, in spots, obscured by overgrown brush. Having left her car at the mouth of the entrance, in fear of alerting whoever might be in the cabin, Miss Parker moved down the path at a confident but cautious clip, her hand wrapped tightly around the butt of her automatic. She noted fresh tire marks and, as she got closer, footprints she told herself had to belong to Jarod.

When the cabin came into view, she moved into the nearby tree line and stared at it from across the yard. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and pressed redial. Adam answered on the first ring.

"Did you find him?"

"I'm close. What did you uncover in the doctor's records?"

The boy took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Not much but, what I did find proves your theory. It looks like Lyle and Dr. Kelly met over a year ago."

"Over a year ago?" she repeated. "Their partnership started _before_ Lyle was sent to Africa?"

"Yes," he sighed. "I found a large deposit in Dr. Kelly's bank account, dated during the time Jarod was missing. I traced it back to one of Lyle's offshore accounts. I couldn't find anything in the doctor's other records to tell me what the money was for, so, I accessed Lyle's files."

When Adam hesitated, Miss Parker urged him to continue with a sharp, "And?"

"I found a document that drafted an agreement between the two of them. Lyle hired Dr. Kelly to do research and experiments for a special project."

Drawing her eyes back to the cabin, she raked the fingers of her free hand through her hair. "Let me guess – the project near and dear to his heart has something to do with mind control, doesn't it? Jarod never got a break. They've been playing with his mind continually for two straight years."

"I'm afraid so," he said apologetically. When she did not respond, he added hesitantly, "Miss Parker, there's something else."

"There is_ always_ something else," she said, tiredly.

"You need to find Jarod."

"What the hell do you think I'm trying to do out here?" she snapped. "You don't need to tell me . . ."

"No, you don't understand," he said quickly, startled by her defensiveness. "Please. You need to find Jarod because I am certain that there is going to be another murder very soon and I think I know who the next victim will be. If we can find Jarod, before it happens, maybe we can buy the woman a little more time."

"_I killed her," he whispered. "I killed them."_

"_No," she answered firmly. Kneeling in front of him, Miss Parker kept her hand in his and stared into the dark eyes. "Listen to me, Jarod. I don't know what game my brother is playing with your mind, but you did not kill anyone."_

"_How can you be so sure?"_

"_Because I know you better than you know yourself," she insisted. "And I know him."_

_Jarod shook his head. "It's not enough."_

"Jarod did not kill those women," she snapped, pulling herself from the memory. "He doesn't have it in him."

"I know," he insisted. "But, someone is going out of their way to make it look like he did."

Miss Parker was quiet, her eyes watching the cabin for some clue she was on the right track. If she was wrong, it meant that Jarod was somewhere else – and she had no idea how to find him.

"Jillian Kincade was reported missing three days ago and . . ."

"Who the hell is Jillian Kincade and why should I care?"

Adam hesitated, his brows furrowing until he realized that Miss Parker had not been at the house when Debbie uncovered the connection between Jillian's credit card and the airplane tickets his parents had received. Taking a deep breath, he quickly relayed the information that had been discovered in her absence.

"Okay, so she's connected to this somehow, but it doesn't fit. Jarod never used the name Kincade," she pointed out. "All the victims had surnames that Jarod used during his pretends."

"I know but, Kincade is the name of someone Mr. Broots referred to as the 'Black Widow'. He said she killed her husband and tried to set Jarod up for the murder."

Miss Parker dropped her eyes and moved away from the edge of the tree line. She knew exactly which pretend he was referring to and, as the specifics surfaced, she felt her legs began to shake. Lowering herself to the edge of a downed tree, she took a deep breath and shook her head. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to frame Jarod and, if it was the last thing she did, she would make them regret it.

"It was worse than just setting him up for murder, Adam," she said softly. "Kristy Kincade made your brother believe she was falling in love with him. She played on his emotions and then betrayed him." When Adam responded in a voice so soft she couldn't make out the words, she decided to let the subject drop. "Is there is a connection between Jillian and Kristy?"

"None that we could find," Adam sighed. "But I think she might be the woman who took the photo of me and Jarod at the street fair. I remember that the woman had red hair and the description in the Missing Person's report states Jillian's hair is red, too."

"Is that it?"

"No. When Jarod was trying to negotiate the price of the photo, the woman told him the money was for the University scholarship fund. Jillian attends the same university."

Rubbing her forehead, Miss Parker took a deep breath. "Okay, even if I accepted the idea that Jarod would negotiate the price of anything, it's still a stretch, Adam. Do you have any idea how many students attend the University?"

"This year, there are 5,073 undergraduates, 1,108 graduate and 972 law students."

"Then there are at least another 7152 students that could have taken that photo."

"Not really," he smiled, impressed with how quickly she had added the numbers. "Of the 7153 students, 3,097 of them are male and, statistically, only a small percentage of the women would have red hair."

"You're giving me a headache."

He sighed, his grin fading as he was pulled back to the reality of the conversation. "I know the odds are slim, Miss Parker. If I had the original photo, the one at Jarod's beach house, I could confirm whether it's her or not. She wrote her student ID on the back in case we changed our minds and wanted another copy."

"It doesn't matter, Adam," she said, looking back at the cabin. "Jillian may be missing, but she is not in any danger from Jarod. I promise."

* * *

"Dad, you need to see this!" 

Startled by the urgency in his daughter's voice, the Major moved past Broots and Sydney, to where Emily and Debbie were huddled in front of the computer screen. When he stepped beside her, she rose from her seat and, after quickly glancing at the monitor, motioned for him to sit down. His brows furrowed and he shook his head, taking a step back so that he could stand behind the chair.

"There has been another murder, Dad. We found this on one of the newspaper websites."

Following her gaze, the Major leaned forward to read the document displayed on the computer. After reading no more than the first few lines, he straightened his stance and looked at Emily. "She's dead? Claire James is dead?"

"It happened last night," Debbie answered. "The article said the police were looking for 'a person of interest' but didn't release any other information so, I accessed the police database. It hasn't been shown to the press, but they have a composite drawing."

"You mean they have a suspect," the Major sighed. A small, relieved smile crossed his lips. "That's excellent news. It means that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Adam and Jarod will be able to breathe a little easier."

"Dad . . ."

"I know I shouldn't be happy that the woman is dead, and I realize that Lyle and the Centre are still a big threat to our family," he admitted, talking over the interruption, "but I am relieved she is out of the picture. I need to call Adam. After the things she's put this family through, the torture she put your mother through, the nightmares she's given your brothers, it will be nice to . . ."

"Dad, stop," she ordered, placing her hand over his as he reached for the phone. When his eyes slowly came back to her, and she saw his relief fade to apprehension, Emily motioned toward the computer. "Look at the composite."

Doing as he was told, the Major stared at the sketch for almost a full minute before slowly lowering himself into the empty chair. There was no denying the resemblance to his son.

"The police are looking for Jarod," he breathed. "How did they get his description? Who saw him at the scene?"

Emily frowned. "According to the police report, it was Mr. Lyle."

"What?" Standing so quickly that he almost knocked over the chair, he turned to face his daughter. "Lyle is behind this? Lyle is setting Jarod up for the murders?"

"It appears that he blames Jarod for everything that happened last year," Sydney offered. "Lyle is trying to settle a score. He is attempting to have Jarod locked up, the same way he was locked up in Africa."

"Retribution," the Major whispered.

* * *

Sliding the phone into her pocket, with one hand, she reached for her gun with the other. Her blue eyes glanced in all directions, looking for anything that might indicate she had been spotted or that she was in the wrong place. Everything inside of her told her that Jarod was here, and in a great deal of danger, but Miss Parker could not shake her uneasiness. As always, there was a little voice at the back of her head that told her this was her only shot at saving him. If she messed up – Jarod would be the one to pay the price. 

Taking a deep breath, she followed the tree line for as long as she could before racing across the yard and stopping at the garage. Peering in the window, she frowned and moved to the door on the far side of the structure. She easily let herself in and, holstering her gun, circled the parked vehicle.

The dark Cadillac was not new, nor was it a Town Car as she had assumed it would be. In fact, if she had to guess, she would say it was twenty years old and the plate above the rear bumper said it was an El Dorado.

Pleased to find the passenger door unlocked, she slid inside. She searched the sun visors and glove compartment in hopes of finding the name of the registered owner. Finding nothing, she leaned into the driver's side, hit the mechanism that would pop the trunk and exited the car.

Without taking her eyes off the car's frame, she moved to the rear and pushed open the heavy lid. Unwilling to trust her eyes, even after they told her the compartment was empty, Miss Parker ran her fingers through the fibers of the thin carpet. When grains of sand adhered to her skin, she frowned and slid her hand along the edges of the well. To her dismay, in addition to finding more traces of sand, she found strands of long red hair trapped in an iron crevice.

"_I remember that the woman had red hair and the description in the Missing Person's report states Jillian's hair is red, too."_

"Damn it."

"Can I help you with something, Miss Parker?"

Pivoting toward the voice, she reached for her weapon only to draw her hand away when she saw the threat that was meant for her. Standing at the doorway, Philip Kelly had one hand wrapped around Jarod's right arm and the other wrapped around an automatic that was wedged beneath the Pretender's jaw.

* * *

"Dad, are you all right?" 

"Lyle and the police are not the only threat to your brother's freedom, Emily. Once the Centre finds out that Claire is dead, and sees this sketch, they're going to know Jarod is alive. They will come after him." The Major shook his head and continued pacing the length of the small room. "We have to find him, before the police do. We have to protect him until we can prove he wasn't responsible for these deaths."

"Dad, sit down," she said sadly, motioning to the chair. "There's more."

His eyes widening, the Major allowed his daughter to lead him to the vacant seat, but did not question her statement.

"I have gone through every file on the Centre mainframe," Broots promised. "They know about Claire's death. They have the same reports that we have, and have even gone so far as to compare the DNA samples in their vault to the samples the police gathered at the murders, but they do not seem to suspect that Jarod is alive."

"What do you mean? How is that possible?"

"Major, look at the sketch again," Sydney urged. "There is one other person that fits the description, and has DNA that will match the evidence found at the scenes. At this time, the Centre still believes Jarod is dead, therefore, the only logical assumption for them to make is that Adam is responsible for the deaths."

"Adam did not kill those women, any more than Jarod did," he countered angrily. "In fact, he was in Chicago, with us, when two of the murders occurred."

"The Centre does not know that," Sydney explained. "They have no idea where you and your family have been, nor are they interested in solving the murders. They just want the boy."

"And now they know where to look."

* * *

Her eyes moved from the gun to the face of her childhood friend. Relaxed, and seemingly unaware that he was in any danger, the dark eyes did not meet hers. Instead, they were trained on something in the distance. And, though his arms hung limply at his side, free of any restraints, Jarod did not attempt to break away from his captor. 

"Jarod, don't be rude. Say, hello to Miss Parker."

Immediately, the familiar eyes rose to hers but, when he spoke, his voice was dull. "Hello, Miss Parker."

"Jarod, are you all right?" When the Pretender did not respond, she looked at the doctor. "What is wrong with him? Why isn't he answering me?"

The doctor grinned and shook his head. "Don't be offended. In his current state, Jarod will not respond to anyone but me – unless I tell him to. But, I promise, he is perfectly fine."

"So it's true," she growled. "You turned him into a zombie."

"Not quite," he sighed, "but I understand why you might think so. In actuality, I have simplified his life. I have removed the guilt and other emotions that have plagued his decision making for so long. If he had learned, years ago not to over-think a situation, to do just as he was told, he . . ."

"He would not be Jarod," she finished.

Philip smiled and, without dropping his weapon, looked at the man beside him. "I don't know what you mean, Miss Parker. Jarod is quite happy with this arrangement. Isn't that right, Jarod?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Did I mention that he is also much more obedient and respectful in this state? He will do just about anything I ask of him," the doctor said, looking back at the brunette.

"I'm glad you're so pleased with your results but, how confident are you that he's not just pretending?"

Philip glared at the woman then motioned toward her with the gun. "I am confident enough to tell you to hand over your gun to him."

She looked at Jarod and then at the doctor.

"What's the matter, Miss Parker?" he taunted. "If you are so sure that Jarod is pretending, handing him your gun should not be a problem. Unless, of course, your instincts are telling you that I speak the truth. Once he has your gun, Jarod will give it to me."

"I don't hand my gun over to anyone."

His smile faded and his hand tightened around the butt of his own weapon. "You will today."

"You really do not expect me to believe that you're going to shoot him, do you? You have obviously put way too much time and effort into him, to see your work end so abruptly."

"You are a very smart woman, Miss Parker. I have absolutely no intention of harming Jarod. The things he has helped me discover about the human mind are remarkable," he said, shooting a proud grin at the Pretender. "However, I have no qualms about shooting you and planting a memory that makes him believe he pulled the trigger."

"What do you mean - plant a memory?"

He laughed. "Don't be coy, Miss Parker. I have no doubt that, by now, you have seen erratic behavior in Jarod. You've seen him flinch, suddenly, for no reason, or, perhaps, you've seen him lash out, violently. One moment he's fine, the next he's in another world, seeing something you can't see."

She turned her attention on Jarod, concentrating on his face while the other man continued bragging.

"What you've been witnessing is Jarod's reaction to flashbacks of the recent murders. He's hearing the women scream, feeling their breath on his face, smelling their fear, as if he were standing over them. The images are tormenting him, tearing him apart – and they were strangers."

"He didn't kill those women."

The man smiled. "Maybe not, but he believes he was responsible, and you have seen the toll it has taken on him. How do you think the trauma of believing he killed a friend would affect him?"

She glanced helplessly at Jarod, and then scowled at the man with the gun. Reluctantly, she retrieved her automatic from its holster and, as she did so, Philip directed Jarod to take it from her. While he silently slid the weapon from her hand, she watched his face – hoping for some spark of the man she knew, some sign that he was actually pretending. When he turned away and moved back to his place beside the doctor, though, Miss Parker felt her heart drop.

"You follow directions very well, Miss Parker," he told her as he took the firearm and dropped it into his pocket. "From the way Jarod speaks about you, I thought you might be a bit more stubborn. Or, is it that you are just humoring me because you think you are going to find a way to rescue your friend from my evil clutches?"

Raising an eyebrow she tilted her head to one side and glared at the man.

"That's what I thought," he laughed. "Well, you may as well relax. No matter what plan you come up with, Jarod will not cooperate with you. As I mentioned earlier, he will only respond to what I tell him."

"We'll see about that."

* * *

Rising from the recliner, Lyle stretched the muscles in his back and let out a soft, contented groan. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he moved to the bar and, as he poured himself a fresh drink, looked out the porthole window. Seeing nothing but sky, he turned to the cabin phone and waited for the pilot to answer. 

"How long before we land?"

"About fifty minutes, Mr. Lyle," the man replied. "Your car will be waiting at the gate."

"Good."

Then, without another word, Lyle disconnected the call. In less than an hour, they would be on the ground and he would be on his way to finally taking ownership of Jarod. Once that was complete, Gemini would not be far behind.

He smiled to himself as he returned to his chair and dialed the doctor's number. He needed assurances that nothing had happened in the past few hours that might delay his plans for the Pretender. After his meeting with the Triumvirate, he needed for things to be completed tonight.

"It's me," he said, when the call was answered. "My flight will be landing in about an hour. Are things on schedule?"

Philip glanced at the woman standing in front of him and nodded. "Jarod will be ready when you arrive. However, we have an unexpected guest and I am not sure how you want me to handle her."

Lyle scowled and leaned forward in his seat. "Parker is there?"

"That's right."

"How did she find you?"

"I don't know," he snapped. "Does it matter? Just tell me what you want me to do with her."

Lyle hesitated, his face darkening as he contemplated his next move. Finally, he said, "Nothing. I will deal with her when I arrive."

"She may have told someone where she was going. What if they come looking for her?"

"Don't worry about them. You should be worrying about Jarod."

"I told you, he will be ready . . ."

"That's not what I mean. Jarod and my sister have a connection," he explained, rising from the chair. "Over the years, their predator-prey relationship has blossomed into something else, though neither of them seems to be aware of it. Do not try to give Jarod any kind of order to hurt her. I don't care how many false memories you've built into his psyche, he will not carry out the order."

His eyes narrowed as he watched the brunette watch Jarod. "Good to know."

"Also, you would be wise to keep Jarod on a short leash while she's around. I don't want her figuring out a way to get through to him."

"There is no way she could . . ."

"Trust me, Doctor, you should not underestimate Parker. Keep them apart."

* * *

Adam glanced at the Caller ID display and answered the phone before it completed a second ring. "Dad?" 

"Son, where are you?"

"I'm still at Miss Parker's apartment," he replied. "Why? Is something wrong?"

The Major sighed and glanced at his wife. Her fear was so strong; he could see it in her face. For an instant, he felt the same emotions as he had when his boys were stolen. He felt the same helplessness, the same desperation, knowing that the more time that passed, without seeing his children, the less likely he would ever see them again.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

Reminding himself that Adam was safe, he took a deep breath and looked back at the computer monitor. "I need to talk to you, Adam. Do not leave the apartment. I'm on my way."

"Why? Dad, I'm all right. You don't need to worry . . ."

"Do not argue with me, Adam," he said, sharply. Then, quickly correcting his tone, added, "I promise, I will explain it all when I get there."

"Yes, Sir."

Disconnecting the call, before the sound of his son's confused voice could make him say anything that might lighten the mood, the Major turned to face the others in the room. One by one, each dropped their eyes, until his gaze fell on his wife.

"I'm coming with you."

"No," he smiled, moving to her side. "It's better if you wait here."

She shook her head and tried to untangle herself from his hold. "I can't do that. It's bad enough I don't know what has happened to Jarod. I will not sit here and do nothing while Adam is in danger, as well."

"Don't worry," he whispered, pulling the woman to his chest. "I promise, I will be back soon and I will have Adam with me. I can protect him but only if I know that you and Emily are safe."

"Charles . . ."

"Please," he murmured, kissing the side of her face. "Trust me, Margaret. Everything will be all right."

* * *

Miss Parker didn't resist when Jarod took her by the arm and escorted her into the house. His hold was not tight. She could have easily pulled away and made it to the tree line on the far side of the property before Philip could decide whether or not to send Jarod after her. But, she couldn't leave him – not again. 

"Jarod, you don't have to do this," she murmured, allowing him to lead her into the doctor's office. "You don't want to do this."

If he heard her, he showed no indication. Instead, Jarod motioned for her to sit in an armless, wooden chair beside the examination table.

"Look at me," she insisted, her eyes darting toward the window as she followed his directive. "I know he's confused you but I can help. All you have to do is concentrate. We were together a few hours ago. You told me to trust you – to trust **_us_**. I just need you to do the same."

Without a word, Jarod crouched behind her and gently pulled Miss Parker's arms around the spine of the chair. There was no hesitation in his touch, as he brought her wrists together, but for an instant, she would have sworn she felt a soft caress of her right hand.

The handcuffs snapped into place at the same moment Philip appeared at the door and Jarod rose to his full height, moving to her side. His dark eyes met hers for only a split second before he silently followed the doctor's command to wait in the living room.

"What did he ever do to you?" she asked, when Jarod was gone. "What possible reason could you have for trapping him inside himself like this?"

The doctor shook his head as he stepped into the room. "My work with Jarod was never rooted in anything personal, Miss Parker. It was purely scientific."

"In other words, you did it for the money."

He frowned at her tone then shrugged and smiled. "Initially, yes, but, as time went by and I began to see how my work was advancing, the monetary reward became secondary to . . . let's call it professional pride."

"Arrogance is a better term."

"Call it what you will," he sighed, moving in front of her. "But, the fact remains that I hold the key to Jarod. He belongs to me."

"That is exactly what the Centre believed for over thirty years," she laughed, humorlessly. "Jarod proved them wrong, and he will do the same to you."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing! ;-P


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II - Retribution  
by imagine

Chapter 21/?

Lyle paused briefly at the door and faced the ocean. Though the sun was still well above the horizon, it would soon begin its nightly descent and he had things to do. Sliding his sunglasses in place, he moved down the steps of the aircraft, into the waiting car. When the engine roared to life, Lyle leaned forward and handed the driver a piece of paper.

"Change of plans, Willie," he said. "I need to make a stop. I was told that this address is on our way to the cabin."

The dark man glanced at the scribbled address and nodded. "I can have you there in about ten minutes."

"Excellent."

* * *

Miss Parker did not tug at the restraints as Philip Kelly brought the gag across her mouth. Instead, she sat perfectly still and kept her eyes focused on Jarod. Sitting quietly in a chair at the edge of her line of sight, his gaze was trained on something she could not see. Though he flinched when she let out a surprised cry as the doctor pulled the rag tightly across her mouth, the Pretender only glanced shyly toward the sound.

"Your eyes are to be kept facing forward at all times, Jarod," Philip chastised, stepping forward to block the man's view of Miss Parker. "We will continue our session as soon as I finish in here. Do you understand?"

Quietly, Jarod nodded and the dark eyes slowly slid back to the spot only he could see. Smiling at the man's obedience, Philip faced the woman in the chair.

"Lyle said to keep the two of you apart," he told her. "He said that you had a bond which should not be tested."

Unable to respond verbally, Miss Parker pulled at the cuffs holding her wrists behind the chair.

"I wish he had told me sooner," the man lamented. "I could have convinced Jarod that he was a danger to you, as well as his family. We might not be in this situation right now."

Her brows furrowed, watching him step backward, toward the door. His eyes narrowed, then widened with an idea as he leaned against the door jam, purposely continuing to block her view of Jarod.

"Maybe later, when I am alone with him, I will show Jarod the tape of him restraining you to the chair. I am sure it will elicit a reaction that will be extremely beneficial."

The words were no sooner spoken when her gaze shifted from his face to the corners of the room.

"That's right, Miss Parker. There are cameras in every room. I have a video journal of every moment Jarod has spent in his house."

When she looked at him, the doctor smiled thinly and nodded at the desk positioned under the windows. Twisting in the chair for a better view, she saw that the laptop was dark but, even from the odd angle she was seeing it, she could tell it was active.

"In the beginning, I recorded my time with Jarod so I could find his weaknesses. A short time later, I was using the tapes – and edited versions of course – to keep him in line and dependent on me. There is nothing quite like a person seeing themselves doing things they cannot recall to boost their vulnerability to suggestion while deflating their confidence."

The more he spoke, the angrier she became however, in her current situation, the only recourse Miss Parker had was to pull on her bindings. She felt the handcuffs slice the skin around her left wrist and, when she released a low growl of warning, the muscle in her jaw began to ache from the tension her teeth applied to the gag.

"Relax. Despite what Lyle believes, the bond between you and Jarod was severed the night you left him. There is nothing you can do for Jarod anymore, Miss Parker."

It was his tone more than his words that made her stop struggling. Still leaning against the door's frame, he crossed his arms over his chest and met her gaze defiantly.

"I realize that the truth is hard to accept, especially coming from me, but I am being honest with you. Jarod and I had many sessions that revolved around his feelings of abandonment and betrayal," he confided. "You are a very strong woman, Miss Parker. You managed to do what the Centre never could. You broke him."

Her mouth was suddenly dry. Though she told herself that the heavy cloth that was to blame, she could not shake the feeling that his words were having more of an affect on her than she expected.

"I should thank you. If it were not for you, Jarod might not have accepted my methods of therapy so readily. You see, your actions devastated and confused him to so much that Jarod was desperate to rebuild his life. Making sense of everything that had happened until that point was no longer a priority." Using his shoulder, Philip sighed and pushed himself away from the door, placing his hand on the door knob. "If it hadn't been for you, Jarod would probably still be fighting me and my methods. But, even if he weren't, I am sure he would never have progressed this far. I admit, I worked him hard to bring him to this point, but each of his breakthroughs can be traced directly to you."

Then, before his comments could make sense to her, Philip Kelly pulled the door closed.

Miss Parker stared blindly at the spot he had been standing, her breath caught in her lungs until the sharp click of the lock snapped her out of the daze. She could not change her past with Jarod, nor did she have the time to try. But she could – and would – change their future.

* * *

They pulled into the circular drive that decorated the front of the apartment complex and Lyle slid from the car, telling the man to wait in one of the visitor's parking spaces to the left. After glancing across the street at the ocean, then at his watch to assure himself that sunset was still more than an hour away, he turned and entered the building.

The fact that, after Parker disappeared, she had chosen to live only a few miles from the Pretender irritated Lyle immensely. However, the fact that his people had been unable to locate her during that time annoyed him even more. If she hadn't surfaced to help rescue Gemini from the ship, Lyle was sure he would still be clueless as to her whereabouts. Now that he knew where she had been hiding, it was important that he find out how she had spent her time.

As he stepped from the elevator, he was gratified to find the hall empty. The last thing he wanted to do was explain his presence to a nosy neighbor. Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, he retrieved a small leather pouch and stepped in front of his sister's apartment. Sliding the proper pick from its sheath, he slipped it into the keyhole and, seconds later, pushed the door open.

Knowing Miss Parker and Jarod were at the cabin with Philip, Lyle entered without hesitation. However, before the door had a chance to close, he was catapulted forward by an angry blow from behind. He spun around as his attacker came at him again, but the man moved too quickly for Lyle to draw his weapon.

"Adam, get out!"

Though he was stunned, thrown against the wall by his lapels and held in place with an arm against his neck, Lyle's eyes narrowed at the command. Shifting his attention from his assailant to the boy, he watched as Adam obeyed his father's words.

Once the boy was out of the apartment, the Major's grip relaxed for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Lyle to exact retribution. His fist connected with the older man's ribs, followed immediately by a backhanded blow to the chin. Unprepared for the quick, angry and unexpectedly powerful punches, Jarod's father stumbled backward. When Lyle rushed toward him, he tried to protect himself, but the punch to the gut was violent and on the mark. With the wind knocked out of him, the Major fell to his knees.

"I hope you said your goodbyes," Lyle hissed. Finally drawing his automatic, he struck the man across the face. "You are never going to see either of your sons again."

The moment the Major lost consciousness, Lyle stepped away. Snatching his cell phone from his jacket pocket, he ignored the temptation to finish Jarod's father off, once and for all. There was no time. Heading for the door, he punched out the proper speed call code and brought the phone to his ear.

"Willie, it's me," he said as he moved into the hall. Glancing in both directions, he saw the stairwell door gently slide into the closed position. "The boy just ran into the Northeast stairwell. He's about thirty seconds ahead of me. Do not let him escape."

* * *

Sitting back in the chair, she closed her eyes and began to concentrate on the handcuffs that held her wrists in place. Whether he had done it intentionally, or not, Jarod had left her enough slack in the cuff that she was sure she could slip out of them, if she could manage to dislocate her thumb. The last time she'd used that particular talent, she had been trapped with Jarod in the Keys during a hurricane.

"_Why did you save my life?"_

"_Because I still remember the little girl who gave me my first kiss."_

Closing her eyes, Miss Parker bit back the memory. She had been a different person and, though she knew he would deny it, so had he. He'd spoken the words to hurt her, to make her feel guilty about growing away from him, about choosing a path that put them on opposite sides. At least, that was what she had told herself. Believing was out to get her was easier than wondering what might have happened if she had admitted remembering the little boy who was her first kiss, too.

"Do you remember what we were discussing before we were interrupted?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Pulled from her thoughts by the voices floating through the door, Miss Parker became still. Suddenly, the cuffs were of no interest.

"We were discussing the night Claire died," Jarod continued in a monotone voice.

"And we were discussing your involvement in her death."

Jarod hesitated. "Yes, Doctor."

"You raped her."

"I . . . raped her." Though there was no hesitation this time, the words sounded more like a question that a statement of fact.

"While she was pleading with you to stop, you killed her."

"I killed her," he repeated, thickly.

"You killed her while she was pleading with you," he corrected. When the Pretender did not repeat the words immediately, Philip demanded, "Say it."

"I killed her while . . . while she was pleading with me."

"You placed one hand on her throat and slowly squeezed her windpipe."

Again, Jarod was silent.

"You placed one hand on her throat and slowly squeezed her windpipe. Say it!"

"I … placed one hand … on her throat . . . and slowly . . . squeezed . . . her windpipe."

His voice was so soft, she barely heard him through the door. It would have been easier to block out the sound of his tortured voice, and redirect her energy to freeing herself from the chair but the thought never crossed Miss Parker's mind. Instead, she leaned forward, determined to hear every word that was spoken.

With her eyes closed and her brows furrowing in concentration, she listened as Philip Kelly led Jarod, step by step, through the murder of Claire James. The Pretender faltered many times, refusing to instantly repeat what he'd been told. The stillness ranged from a few seconds to more than a minute but, in the end, Jarod always softly choked out the words that admitted his guilt.

She had no idea what happened during those periods of stubborn silence but the longer they went on, the less hesitant Jarod's voice was when he spoke again. Little by little, the Pretender was adopting the persona being forced upon him.

The more she listened to her childhood friend confess to things she knew were impossible for him to have done, the more frustrated she became. She tugged at the handcuffs again, knowing that they were the least of her problems. Even if she freed herself, in his current state, Jarod would be completely unresponsive to anything she might do or say and she had no idea how to free him from Philip Kelly's hold. Falling back in the chair, she let out a heavy breath and glanced around the room, her eyes falling on the laptop near the window.

"You feel no remorse for her death. She was responsible for Adam's kidnapping. She raped you. She tormented your mother. She kept tabs on your sister for Lyle," Philip said. "Claire James deserved to die."

When the Pretender was quiet, Miss Parker turned her gaze back toward the voices. She remembered how adamant he had been at the hotel, insisting that no one deserved to die the way Claire had. Silently she willed him the strength to refrain from saying otherwise.

"Say it, Jarod."

The doctor's voice had a rougher, more impatient quality than it had a few moments before. Her gaze was trained so pointedly at the door that she almost believed she could see through it. She needed to see through it.

"Very well, Jarod. Maybe it is time for us to take a short break."

She frowned at the doctor's words, curious as to why the man had suddenly conceded to Jarod's silence. When she heard the crackle of tires on the gravel driveway, though, her interest shifted toward the windows. Despite the thick shade that blocked her view approaching vehicle, Miss Parker was certain that Lyle had arrived.

"Sit back and close your eyes. Until I tell you otherwise, I want you to concentrate on the night Claire came to you on the ship. I want you to remember all the things she did to you. I want you to imagine her doing the same to your brother. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Doctor."

The fatigue in Jarod's voice was so audible she closed her eyes in sympathy. Yet, at the same time, she felt renewed hope. There was a part of him that was fighting. The least she could do was join him.

* * *

"Where is Parker?"

"She's in my office."

"Sedated?"

"No." His sigh betrayed his annoyance but when Lyle scowled, he quickly corrected his tone and added confidently, "Your sister has been sufficiently restrained. Her gun, cell phone and keys are on the table. She will not be a problem."

"For your sake, I hope that is true." Lyle brushed past the man, taking the steps two at a time.

Philip watched the Town Car pull away from the house and turn onto the long driveway. "Where is he going?"

"Willie is taking care of something for me at the beach house. Tell me about Jarod. Is he ready?"

Turning away from the retreating vehicle, Philip sighed and moved onto the porch. "Yes. I was able to fill in many of the blanks in his memory with images that will support your plans."

"There can be no mistakes." With his hand wrapped around the knob of the door, and is steel eyes trained on the older man, Lyle insisted, "Jarod must do what he is told this time."

There was a slight hesitation but, when Philip spoke, his voice was strong. "He will but, as I have told you many times before, I need some concentrated time with him."

"And, as I have told you, you will have as much time as you need with him, when he completes his assignment," Lyle replied, pushing his way into the house. "Think of it as an incentive to make him perform."

Philip stole a long look at the man bound to the chair. The only indication that Jarod was following the directive to imagine Claire's sins against his brother was a sharp inhale of breath, a quiet moan of protest and the curling of his fists.

Satisfied, the doctor brought his attention back to Lyle. "Jarod is an exceptionally bright man. His mind works much quicker than most and, though he has not consciously realized it, he has found inconsistencies in his memories. At this point, it is a minor issue but if I am not allowed to correct his perception and make him more accepting . . . ."

"If I did not know better, Doctor, I might think you were making excuses for him. You did tell me he would cooperate tonight, did you not?"

"Yes, of course."

"That is all I need to know." Turning away from the man, Lyle stepped in front of Jarod. He stared at the tortured expression on the face of the Pretender, watching as the man grimaced and shook his head tiredly, his eyes dancing under their closed lids. "Release him."

"Why? He is already primed for . . ."

"I want him to know I'm here."

Philip Kelly frowned at the younger man as he stared hungrily at the Pretender. "You do realize that it is dangerous to keep bouncing him back and forth, don't you? Considering that I will have to put him back under, in less than an hour, so that he can complete your task, I do not recommend . . . ."

"I will put him under, when the time is right," Lyle growled, glaring at Philip over his shoulder. "And I do not care what you recommend. Release him. Now."

Though he shook his head, the doctor crouched in front of the captive and placed his hands on the man's forearms. "Jarod, I want you to do something for me."

The Pretender nodded, waiting for the command. Though he said nothing, in the seconds that passed before Philip spoke again, Jarod winced uncomfortably as the images of Adam and Claire continued to flow through his mind.

"When you wake up, you will believe that I struck you and that you were rendered unconscious. You will not ask how long you were out or make reference to the argument. You will not remember seeing Miss Parker or venturing out of the house. However you will retain the images you have created of Claire and your brother. They will resurface whenever someone suggests you are responsible for the death of Claire James. Is that understood?"

Jarod swallowed hard and nodded his response.

"Very good, Jarod, I am proud of you." Glancing over his shoulder at Lyle, he shook his head in disappointment once more then activated the ringer on his cell phone. When the Pretender stirred at the sound, Philip murmured, "You have your refuge, Jarod."

The glare of the sun struck Jarod at an awkward angle, obscuring the faces of those standing in front of him. Instinctively, he tried to shield his face with his hands, only to find both were bound to the arms of the chair. Slowly he looked up, tilting his head to one side and squinting through the shimmer of light in hopes of making out a recognizable feature.

"Hello, Jarod."

"Lyle." The name came out as a breathless growl only a split second before Jarod shifted his attention to Philip. "I should have known. How long have the two of you been working together?"

"Since the day you met at the hospital," Lyle responded. "But, just for the record, he hasn't been working _with_ me – he's been working _for_ me. You are an expensive piece of property to maintain, Jarod. I had to pay him very handsomely to make you manageable."

"Manageable," he croaked. His gaze still on the doctor, Jarod demanded, "What did you do to me?"

"Exactly what I told him to." Lyle moved behind the bound man and, bringing his lip to Jarod's ear, added hotly, "And I told him to do a variety of creative and interesting things. Sometimes, I watched."

Jarod shifted in the chair, his eyes sliding awkwardly to the mirror at the far end of the room.

"It took much longer than I expected and it cost me much more than you can imagine, but I finally have what I want." Satisfied with the Pretender's sudden insecurity, Lyle rose to his full height. "You belong to me, exclusively."

The only indication that Jarod heard the words was the balling of his fists as Lyle spoke. However, Jarod's eyes never strayed from his own reflection.

"Yet, despite his best efforts, it seems, even Dr. Kelly cannot find a way to ensure your cooperation and blind obedience. After all, you disobeyed a direct order when you left the hotel room."

"I don't take orders from you." When Parker's twin stopped in front of him, Jarod glared at him and growled, "Especially when they are designed to frame me for murder."

"Frame you? I don't need to frame a guilty man, Jarod. After what you did to Claire, you should be rotting in a jail cell."

Suddenly unsure, Jarod averted his gaze. Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself but, opened them abruptly as a vision of Claire straddling Adam invaded his thoughts.

_Stretching her body over his, the woman ran her lips along the taut line of his jaw while her fingernails pressed into his arms like the talons of a falcon. Her tongue slid along the side of his neck and when she felt him tense, she bit his earlobe._

Inhaling sharply, Jarod found he could not immediately force the breath from his lungs. The panic attack took a little less than fifteen seconds but, in that time, the Pretender sweat dampened the collar of his shirt, as well as the sleeves. Tentatively taking another breath, he closed his eyes in relief when his body functioned normally.

"I am the only reason you are still a free man." Lyle grabbed his prisoner by the hair and pushed him back in the seat. "You will never disobey me again."

Despite his internal struggle, Jarod met the light eyes with a harsh glare. "Don't be so sure about that."

He felt Lyle release him but did not see the blow coming until it was too late. It was quick and sharp, propelling his right temple against the side of the chair. Then, just as quickly, another equally stinging slap twisted his head to the left.

Grabbing Jarod by the hair again, Lyle held him in place and brought his fist into Jarod's view. His jaw tensed and, though Lyle saw the Pretender's eyes dart anxiously from his face to the hovering threat of another strike, he did not see fear.

"See, this is what I mean," he sighed. Taking a deep breath, Lyle released the man, straightening his tie as he took a step back. "After everything Dr. Kelly has done, you still refuse to cooperate. It's not right."

"Maybe, if you ask nicely, he will refund your money."

Lyle smiled and calmly slid his thumbless hand lightly along Jarod's jaw, ignoring the deep scowl that settled across the Pretender's face. "Actually, it seems our good doctor has developed a fondness for you, Jarod. He believes that with some intense one on one time, he can persuade you to perform acceptably on command."

"I believe I have already proven I can make him perform," Philip interjected brusquely. "At this point, I just need additional time with him to ensure that he obeys _every_ command, regardless of what it might be."

Jarod stared at the doctor, his heart pounding angrily in his chest as his mind raced to find images to support the queasy feeling growing in his stomach. "I will never cooperate with either one of you."

The two men laughed, their eyes never leaving their captive's face.

"You will cooperate, Jarod," Lyle said. "It's just a matter of how much pain you are willing to endure first. Eventually, you will come to the realization that cooperation is the key to your survival – just as you did last year, at my cabin."

"I didn't cooperate with you then, and I am not going to do it now," he insisted, though his voice faltered midway through the statement.

"My, how soon we forget," Lyle laughed, adopting a much more serious tone when he added, "You may not like the memory, Jarod, but that doesn't mean you can dismiss it as if it didn't happen. You were becoming very obedient before . . . we were separated."

"No."

"Fine, if you insist on being stubborn, I will prove it to you. Tell me who you are."

Jarod's entire body stiffened with tension as the words were spoken. He shifted in the chair, trying to ignore the heavy weight of Lyle's stare. When he felt the gloved hand on his leg, though, caressing the area just below his groin, the Pretender heard himself whisper, "I am your property. Yours to do with as you see fit."

"Excellent! See, you have retained some of what I taught you." Patting his captive's knee, the man rose from the crouching position he'd assumed. "I tell you what I'm going to do. Since things are going so well between us, I am going to cut you some slack. I am going to make an offer that will not be repeated. So, consider it carefully." After a dramatic pause, Lyle announced, "If you apologize for leaving the hotel room without permission and ask for my forgiveness, I will be merciful with your punishment."

Jarod glared at him incredulously. "You are out of your mind."

"Stop fighting him, Jarod," Philip scolded. "Your defiance will cause more harm than good."

Sliding his gaze to the doctor standing slightly behind Lyle, Jarod pulled at the restraints that held him to the chair. "You should know, by now, _Philip_, that I am capable of withstanding just about anything. I will never stop fighting for my freedom, or my family, nor will I apologize for doing so."

"Even if your pride causes harm to those you claim to care about? Maybe you are just as dangerous to your family as Philip has always claimed."

Lyle's taunt brought Jarod's attention back on him. "What are you talking about?"

"Did I mention that your father and I had a . . . confrontation today?" he replied nonchalantly. Then, flexing his fist so that the Pretender's eyes were drawn to the bruises on his knuckles he added, "Gemini was with him."

The muscles in Jarod's arms and neck seemed to thicken in response to the words.

The mocking tone and grin faded as Lyle stepped behind the Pretender. Leaning forward, over Jarod's left shoulder, he murmured, "When you apologize and ask my forgiveness for your disobedience, maybe I will tell you what happened to them."

* * *

"Dad?"

"Jarod, where are you? Are you all right?"

The Pretender looked up at the man holding the phone to his ear and, ignoring both questions, asked, "Why are you answering Adam's phone? I need to talk to him."

The Major hesitated and, in that split second, Jarod felt his insides twist. "He isn't here, Son."

"Where is he?"

"I wish I knew," he admitted, adding optimistically, "But I'm sure he is fine. Everyone is out looking for him. We'll find him."

Jarod closed his eyes at the pain in his father's voice. Taking a deep breath, he was about to ask what had happened, how his brother had gotten separated from the family, but before he could verbalize the questions, Lyle disconnected the call.

"Satisfied?" he asked, when Jarod's dark eyes snapped up to meet his.

"No. I want to talk to my father again. I want . . ."

"You wanted poof that I have the boy," he interrupted. "I gave you proof."

"All you have proven is that Adam isn't with my family. He could be . . ."

The protests came to an abrupt halt as Lyle pressed his hand over Jarod's mouth and nose. Leaning into the man, reveling in the Pretender's struggle for a breath, he murmured, "No more games, Jarod. When I release you, you will have exactly five seconds to make your decision. Either you say you believe that the boy is with me, and do whatever I tell you; or you call me a liar and refuse to cooperate. The choice is yours. Keep in mind though, that, if you make the wrong choice, Gemini will pay the price."

Despite their close proximity and the burning sensation in his lungs, Jarod averted his eyes. He found Philip standing only a few feet behind Lyle, positioned as if he wanted to take action. As if he felt the heaviness of the stare, the doctor suddenly turned away.

"Do you understand?"

Hesitantly, Jarod nodded.

"Good." Pulling his hand away from Jarod's face, he watched the Pretender filled his lungs with gulps of air. Waiting until the man's breathing had regulated, he dared, "Now, Jarod, how are we going to proceed?"

The Pretender glanced at his reflection in the mirror before slowly bringing his gaze to Parker's twin. "I believe you. What do you want me to do?"

* * *

"This is not a good idea. Jarod is capable of anything," Philip complained. "He is unpredictable."

"On the contrary, Philip, Jarod is very predictable. He has always had a strong instinct to protect his family."

"I realize that," the man shot back. "I am the one who manipulated that instinct to gain control of his mind."

"And, your hard work – the images of the murders you've planted, the false memories you've created to support his guilt – combined with a threat against one of his dearest family members, gives us much more power over Jarod than we ever had before. He has no choice but to cooperate."

"There is always a choice," the doctor snapped. "The way he is now, there is always a chance Jarod will make the one detrimental to your plan."

Lyle crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, his eyes trained on the door leading to the basement. "In the last twenty minutes, you have seen him apologize for disobedience, and agree to carry out my orders. I know what I am doing."

The man paused as he reflected on the words then shook his head. "It is still too risky. Jarod is not convinced that he committed the other murders. His instincts to protect do not apply only to his family. Without putting him into a trance, there is no telling what he might do."

"Trust me. He will continue to do as I tell him," Lyle countered, "and as he does, he will be fully aware that doing so was his choice."

"What if he refuses? What if he is unable to follow through?"

"Then I will use your magic words and force his cooperation," he sighed, not bothering to hide his annoyance. When Jarod appeared at the top of the steps and crossed the threshold, his arms filled with a semiconscious Jillian, Lyle smiled and looked at the doctor. "Now stop worrying. I know what I am doing."

Moving away from the man, Lyle pulled open the door and motioned for Jarod to come toward him. "Take her outside. Your El Dorado is parked in the garage. Put her in the trunk and wait for me."

Jarod hesitated and frowned at the man. "I do not own an El Dorado."

"Of course you do," Lyle smiled. Retrieving the keys from his pants pocket he slipped the ring over Jarod's left index finger. "You bought it three weeks ago at the vintage car show in San Diego. Don't you remember?"

Looking over the body in his arms, Jarod stared blankly at the set of keys.

Despite the fact he was taking enjoyment out of his captive's mounting confusion, Lyle suppressed the urge to let it continue. Telling himself there would be plenty of time to play these kinds of mind games, he brought the Pretender's attention back on him.

"Do as you were told, Jarod. Put the girl in the trunk," he said sharply.

He saw a spark of defiance in the dark eyes and a tightening of Jarod's jaw muscles but the Pretender made no attempt at resistance. Instead, the man shifted his gaze to the girl in his arms.

"Do not make me repeat myself."

With a heavy sigh, Jarod turned and continued out of the cabin.

Keeping his gaze on the Pretender, Lyle smiled and crossed his arms confidently.

"Don't get cocky. He hasn't killed her yet," Philip pointed out. "Besides, we still have your sister to deal with."

Lyle faced the doctor abruptly, his eyes darting to the closed door of the office. "I do not want her interfering tonight but I do not have time to deal with her. The sunset will begin in less than twenty minutes. Take her downstairs and lock her in the cell."

Philip let out a frustrated sigh and nodded. "Fine. I will do it as soon as you leave."

"When you're done, come to the beach house."

"Why in the world would I come to Jarod's beach house if you're going to have him kill the girl half a mile away?"

Lyle raised an eyebrow then started across the porch. "Change of plans, Philip. Go with it."

* * *

He watched from the porch as the Cadillac backed out of the garage. Shifting his stance, he moved to the banister for a better view of the driver. Though Jarod's gaze was focused straight ahead and he seemed to be making every effort to ignore the man sitting beside him, he glanced in Philip's direction. His hands were drawn tightly around the steering wheel – so tightly that Philip wondered what was going through the man's head.

Their eyes met for only a moment, long enough for Philip to decide that a shadow had crossed over the man's face. Then, abruptly, the Pretender looked at Lyle and brought his attention back to his driving.

"Soon," he murmured, as the tail lights blinked in deference to the curving driveway. "Soon, you and I will have time to erase any doubts you have about me, Jarod. You will learn to rely on me."

Waiting until the El Dorado was out of sight the doctor took a deep breath. All he had to do was get through the night. Once Jarod completed his assignment for Lyle, the situation would improve for everyone.

He stepped into the house and eyed the closed office door.

The sooner he got Miss Parker into the downstairs cell, the sooner he could leave for the beach house and the new life Lyle promised. Taking a deep breath, he pulled open the door and stepped inside. It took him only a second to comprehend the fact that the chair that once held Miss Parker was now unoccupied. However, it was a second too long.

She attacked him from the side. With the handcuffs still dangling from her left wrist, she struck him in the ribs. When he tried to steal a moment to recover, Miss Parker ignored the discomfort from her dislocated left thumb, and struck him again and again – once across the face, and once in the chest.

Backing out of the room, throwing pieces of furniture between them in hopes of slowing her advance, Philip could not find a place to hold his ground. Her pace was too swift and her blows were filled with too much anger for him to even consider making an attempt to reason with the woman. So, when she came to a sudden and complete halt and glared at him in silence, he remained guarded.

"He trusted you."

Philip stared at the brunette then, slowly, pulled himself to his full height. "No more than he trusted you."

As soon as the words crossed his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake. Her leg extended toward him with such force that when it made contact with his gut, he stumbled backward. A second, equally harsh blow across the face sent him into the chair that, earlier, had held Jarod prisoner. Before the thought of returning to his feet even crossed Philip's mind, Miss Parker pulled her automatic from the table and pressed it against his temple.

"You have exactly ten seconds to start talking," she told him in a dark, breathless voice. "I want to know everything. If you even think about lying to me, I will put a bullet in you."

"If you kill me, you will never know Lyle's plan."

Her laugh was filled with many emotions, but humor was not one of them.

"Who said anything about killing you?" Slowly sliding the muzzle of the gun down the side of his face, she smiled and readied the gun. "What I have in mind is much more painful. So, please, by all means, feel free to lie at least once."

* * *

Jarod turned off the engine and sat back in the seat, waiting for Lyle's next command. His eyes darted to the entrance of the house that had given him refuge for so long. The setting sun was casting an eerie shadow on the building, one that neither offered comfort nor sent a chill of warning down his back, one he could not remember seeing before.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked quietly. Lyle opened the driver's side door and pulled Jarod to his feet. Immediately, the Pretender pivoted toward him. "Where is Adam?"

"Get the girl."

"Where is Adam?" Freeing himself of Lyle's grip, Jarod stood nose to nose with the man. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, the tremor in his voice betrayed his anxiety. "I want to see my brother."

A half-smile graced Lyle's lips before the man took a step back and motioned toward the window overlooking the porch. Jarod's eyes widened as the curtains shifted and Adam was pushed into view. The boy struggled, trying to free himself from his captor until he saw Jarod in the driveway. In an instant, the young man became still, pressing one hand to the glass.

"Not yet." Moving in front of the Pretender, as he headed for the porch steps, Lyle motioned toward the car. "You know the deal. First, you take care of the girl."

Unsure, Jarod glanced at the Cadillac. When he brought his gaze back to the window, Adam was gone.

"Do as you're told, Jarod. Disobey me and he will pay the price." He waited until the Pretender faced him then with a callous smile. "It is your choice."

Taking a deep breath and holding it for a heartbeat, Jarod moved to the back of the vehicle. Using the keys that were still clasped in his hand, he did as he was told and slowly pushed open the lid. The young woman stirred at the sudden breeze and released a soft moan. Still wrapped in the blanket Lyle had insisted Jarod use, her face was covered in sweat.

He knew what it felt like to be trapped inside the trunk of a car. The memory of the road trip Lyle had subjected him to a little more than a year ago still taunted him in his dreams. The suffocating feeling of not being able to fill your lungs, the taste of your own sweat as the rays of the sun threatened to bake you alive, and the hum of the engine lulling you with sleep only to have a pothole suddenly jolt your body into a painful position were only some of the sensations he could live without experiencing again.

Knowing Lyle was beside him, Jarod resisted the urge to reach in and offer the young woman a word or touch of comfort. Instead, he took a step to his left, allowing the breeze at his back to caress her face.

"Put this on."

Jarod looked down as Lyle handed him a cordless ear piece.

"You will wear it and, if I hear anything I shouldn't, you will hear Gemini's screams. Is that understood?"

Nodding, he slipped the device over his ear.

"Good. Now, there is a rocky section of beach about thirty yards to the south of the house, beyond the wild grass," he said, as Jarod scooped the girl into his arms. "Take her behind the boulders so that the only view she will have is of the ocean. Do you know the section of beach I am referring to?"

Jarod nodded. He knew, too well, which piece of property Lyle was referring to. It was the same secluded spot he and Parker had claimed as their own during every sunset for months. For a split second, he wondered if, somehow, Lyle knew how special it was to him. He looked at the man beside him then, with a heavy sigh, looked back at the girl. The smirk that appeared on Lyle's face gave him his answer.

"Make sure Jillian gets to watch the sunset," he said, sliding the back of his hands across the woman's forehead. "I promised it to her as reward for her cooperation."

Despite her weakened state, Jillian shifted in Jarod's arms, turning from Lyle's touch. Her hands grasped his T-shirt so tightly, half an inch of stitching separated between the collar and the sleeve. Instinctively, the Pretender pulled her closer, using his body to shield her from Parker's twin.

"Is there anything else?" he growled.

"No, Jarod, you can go now. Just remember that, though we may not be able to see you, Gemini and I will be listening."

Without bothering to respond, the Pretender started toward the beach. The ocean breeze was cool and, as he moved into it, he felt the woman stir in his arms. Her eyes opened briefly, meeting his with tired confusion.

"Who . . . are you?" she whispered.

"My name is Jarod."

She repeated his name thoughtfully as he moved around the boulders. When he sank to his knees, gently positioning her in the sand in front of him, she let out a soft moan and shook her head. "I . . . want to go . . . home."

Leaning heavily on him, her head rested on his shoulder and the quiver in her voice vibrated through his body. He ached to tell her that everything would be all right, to comfort her in the way she deserved. But the words wouldn't come. All Jarod could manage was a soft, dry, "I know."

He turned his face to the wind, taking a deep breath as he ignored her murmured sounds. When the blanket fell away from her shoulders, he automatically reached for the fabric but did not pull it back into place. Instead, his gaze fell on the rose tattoo. Hidden among a garden of bruises and scratches, it stirred something in him that was both alien and terrifyingly familiar. Stunned, he let the blanket drop from his hand and gently traced the ink stained skin with his fingers.

_He felt a soft rush of air in her wake, caught a faint scent of soap and a glimpse of the rose that adorned her shoulder. Moments later, the tattoo was covered by a gray hooded jacket but he'd seen it long enough to lock away the image in his mind._

"I don't hear anything, Jarod." Startled by the voice, Jarod immediately brought his hand over the earpiece as Lyle gruffly reminded him that the silence could easily be broken by his brother's screams.

"No. Don't hurt him."

"Then do as I told you – keep her talking."

"She's too weak. Between the dehydration and the drugs you've fed her, she can barely keep her eyes open," he said, glancing at the woman. "She needs a doctor, Lyle."

"Providing her with a doctor would be contradictory to my, I mean – your – plans for her," he smiled. "All you have to do is keep her awake long enough to be a participant in tonight's activities. Besides, in her state, Jillian won't be able to give you the same kinds of troubles that Claire did in her final moments with you."

_The predatory gaze that traveled the length of his naked body and the slow, thoughtful movement of the woman's right hand as it slid over her collar bone filled him with a sudden chill. Claire began to undress slowly. Nimbly manipulating the tiny buttons of her blouse, she let it hang open. Reaching behind her back, she tugged at the zipper at her waist but her eyes never left his face. The skirt slid lower on her hips, finally falling to the floor as he turned away. She laughed but did not chastise him. Instead, she mounted him and sharply pressed her knees into his ribs, demanding his attention as she removed the last of her garments._

Shaking away the image of Claire taunting Adam, Jarod swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Then, looking over his shoulder to confirm that Lyle could not see what he was doing carefully brought Jillian to his chest. At a loss for words, he stroked her hair, palming the knotted red strands away from her face.

"Please." Her voice was so heavy with fatigue that the one word caused her heart to pound from exertion. The vibration carried through her body, beating at his chest like a butcher with a cut of meat. "Help me."

"Don't be scared." His voice was so soft that the words cracked as he spoke.

The sound that escaped her lips was neither a laugh nor a cry, but it was filled with emotion. As Jarod continued to gently pull her hair from her face, he felt the heat of her tears on her cheek. "You're . . . you're going to kill me."

Knowing his words were being scrutinized, Jarod shook his head and drew a shuddered breath. He stared out at the sinking sun and murmured, "I'm going to do what I have to do."

* * *

Adam stood silently in the corner, his gaze darting from the phone in Lyle's hand to the beach and then back again. When his captor's steel eyes caught his, he looked away, only to find Willie standing less than a yard away.

Bathed in the shadows of dusk, with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed, the Sweeper seemed more menacing than he had in the dim light of Miss Parker's apartment stairwell. Yet Adam's desire to know what had happened to his brother was more compelling than any threat he could imagine. As frightened as he was when he'd been brought to the beach house, the moment he'd been allowed a glimpse of Jarod was the moment his fear had turned to sheer terror.

"Where is Jarod?"

Lyle glanced at Willie, motioning for the man to stay where he was then faced the boy.

The silence was more intimidating than the look that passed his captors. Swallowing his fear, he forced himself to press for an answer. "What have you done to him?"

Slipping the cell phone into his pocket, Parker's twin crossed to where Adam stood. "Jarod is . . . finishing up his end of our deal."

"Jarod would never make a deal with you. Tell me what he's doing."

His smile widened with humor but, just as quickly, faded to a grin that, like his eyes, held nothing but the promise of manipulation. "I know you are inquisitive by nature, but it is time that you learned to curb that particular characteristic."

There was no doubt about the fact that Lyle's words held a threat that Willie would be more than willing to carry out. Adam's gaze shifted anxiously between his captors, searching for the courage to continue his questioning.

"Jarod is taking longer than expected to complete his end of our bargain, though," Lyle admitted, glancing at the phone in his hand. He looked up at the boy and smiled. "You can help me move him along."

Adam saw the small nod Lyle made in his direction but was unable to react in time to prevent Willie from hooking his arm around his neck. Pulled against the Sweeper's chest, he felt the man's hot breath on his left cheek. Instinctively, he clawed at the thick limb, desperate to free himself from the hold; but Willie did not loosen his grip.

"Jarod, can you hear me?" Lyle asked as he pressed the phone to his ear. "Good because I need you to pay attention. The sun is gone. Instead of completing your task, you are putting more effort into comforting your prey. That is not how these things are done, Jarod. It is time for you to do what is expected – what you agreed to do."

Adam watched in confusion as the cell phone was held in his direction. An instant later, a quick sharp blow to his kidney pushed his weight against Willie's arm. Even if he'd had the presence of mind to suppress the scream, Adam doubted he would have been able to do so. It was instinctive, guttural and, like the pain that was pulsating through his body, could not be controlled.

He heard Jarod calling out to him through the phone but before Adam could respond, Willie's hold on him slipped from his neck to his mouth. Desperate to communicate with his brother, to ease Jarod's guilt, he screamed into the Sweeper's hand. In response, Willie tightened his grip.

Satisfied with the suppressed cries, and the teary expression on the boy's face, Lyle pulled the device back to his own ear.

"Stop with the empty threats, Jarod," he barked. "I warned you. I told you what would happen if you did not obey. Consider Gemini's screams an example of what I expect to hear from the girl in the next five minutes. If I don't, Willie will elicit another example from your brother. Do you understand? Good."

* * *

Adam's cries brought Jarod to his feet. Every instinct was to go to the boy's defense, to run toward the house and protect the younger man regardless of the consequences. The moment he tried to execute the decision, though, he remembered the girl. If he failed to protect Adam, he would also be failing her.

"_What if I refuse? You can't force me to kill."_

"_Of course I can," the man grinned. "I have done it before."_

_Startled by the words, Jarod glared at the man. "I have never killed for you."_

_Lyle laughed and shook his head. "Never is such a finite term you should be very careful about how it is used. You could end up lying to yourself."_

"_I will __**never**__ kill for you," he repeated, using a much more forceful tone. "She is an innocent, Lyle. She has done nothing to warrant . . ."_

"_Face it, Jarod, we both know that the girl will die by your hand tonight," Lyle interrupted calmly. "I am giving you the opportunity to do it of your own free will."_

"_I kill her or you kill my brother. I hardly call that free will."_

"_You have a choice to do it, or not," he shrugged. "I can't give you more than that. And, for the record, I never said I would kill Gemini. He's much too valuable. I said neither you nor your family would never see or hear from him again. There's a difference."_

Rubbing his eyes, he leaned against the cool rock formation that hid him and the girl from those in the house. His head hurt. His muscles ached with tension. His memories were tenuous and unreliable. His confidence in sorting out the facts of the situation was waning. He couldn't run a reliable simulation.

The device plugged into his ear was irritating but, as much as he wanted to chuck it into the ocean, he knew he could not. If the electronic umbilical cord between him and Lyle were suddenly severed, Jarod had no doubt that Kyle's killer would follow through with his threats against Adam.

Tiredly, Jarod turned toward the girl. Despite her physical weakness, Jillian had managed to crawl between two of the larger boulders. She looked up at him, her skin and hair adorned with sand and stones. When their eyes met, she dropped her gaze and, bringing her knees to her chest, buried her face. As her shoulders began to tremble, Jarod felt his knees begin to do the same.

"Please," she whispered, when he moved beside her and placed a hand on her back. "Please, don't."

"I don't have a choice."

Her eyes shot up, searching his face in desperation. "You do."

Kneeling beside her, Jarod gently caressed the young woman's cheek. She turned away from the touch, a soft cry of fear escaping her lips but, despite his urge to do otherwise, Jarod did not break the connection.

His open palm slid down the side of her neck and across the rose tattoo, following the length of her arm. It moved over the needle marks and bruises in the crook of her elbow, carefully traced the skin around the wrists that had been shredded by handcuffs then slid around her clenched hand.

Ignoring the sounds of her rising panic – her soft moans to stop, her accelerated breaths - Jarod pried the hand free from the grip it held on her knees. He could feel her pulse but, despite its rapid rhythm, the Pretender brought the loosely fisted fingers to his cheek and carefully slid them over the ear piece. Holding her hand in place, even when she tried to draw it away, Jarod waited patiently until her eyes met his.

"No, I don't," he whispered.

Something in her glassy gaze shifted and, though he couldn't be sure, he hoped it meant she understood. Pulling out of his suddenly gentle grasp, she stared at him, searching his face for confirmation. Her breaths still coming at a quick tempo while her hand hovered in mid air, her lower lip began to tremble in uncertainty.

He gave her a slight nod of encouragement. "It will all be over soon."

The moment the words were spoken, Jillian's indecision gave way to a shriek that would put a banshee to shame. Tears spilled over her lashes and her fingernails scratched the surface of his bearded cheek, drawing blood as she suddenly lunged forward. Knocking the Pretender off balance, Jillian landed on top of him, her cries finding a frenzied pitch as she pummeled the man with open hands.

When he growled a taunt designed to keep her adrenalin pumping, she pulled at the earpiece, tossing it into the sand several feet away. Through heavy sobs of pent up fright and frustration, she slapped his face, his chest and his arms. Still lying beneath her, Jarod made no attempt to stop the attack, accepting the abuse until the force of her blows waned to nothing more painful than a light tap. With all her energy exerted, both physically and emotionally, Jillian slid to the sand beside him.

He waited until her ragged sobs deteriorated into a whimper before rolling to his side. Gently pushing back the hair from her face, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Immediately, she jerked away and the fear returned to her eyes.

"It's okay," he smiled. "You did good. You just bought us and, hopefully, my brother, some time."

* * *

Looking at the boy, Lyle activated the speaker on his cell phone and smiled as Jillian's cries filled the air. He watched as the dark eyes, trained on the cell phone, filled with tears. Still held tightly in Willie's grasp, he struggled valiantly to be released, the woman's screams seemingly giving him strength. And, when the transmission suddenly died, the fight in Jarod's clone did the same.

Lyle waited a few moments, watching as the boy silently willed the sounds to return. The longer the phone remained silent, the more blood seemed to drain from the young face.

"Take him outside," Lyle said, finally disconnecting the call. "It's time to go."

Adam stumbled as Willie pulled him toward the door but found his footing long enough to face Lyle.

"Don't believe everything you hear. Jarod did not do it," he announced, proudly. "You can do anything you want to me, but Jarod would never hurt, let alone kill, that woman."

"You're right." Slowly stepping in front of the younger man, Lyle grabbed Adam by the chin. "I can do anything I want to you."

"But you have no control over Jarod," the boy gloated. "You lost."

"No, actually, you've lost. You belong to me now. You have Jarod's life."

Adam shook his head, his eyes filled with defiance. "Jarod promised to keep me safe and I trust him. He'll find a way, Lyle, and when he does, you are going to be sorry. You're going to wish the Centre never brought you back to the States."

Lyle raised an eyebrow and glared at the boy. "You've grown a backbone in the last few days. We're going to have to do something to rectify that." Then, glancing at Willie he motioned toward the door. "Get him out of here."

"You lost, Lyle. You lost."

For the first time, Lyle heard Jarod's voice echoing in the boy's. The tone was deep, controlled and filled with such smugness that, though he knew he should let Willie carry out his orders, Lyle was unable to resist one more torment. Jarod could not have the last word.

"Wait. On second thought, Willie, don't take him anywhere yet. Just keep him quiet," Lyle ordered. "I want him to hear this – I want him to know why his big brother isn't going to be his hero today."

Pulling his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket, Lyle punched out the three digit code and brought the device to his ear. With his eyes trained on the younger man, his menacing, forceful tone gave way to one filled with uncertainty and concern. "Yes, um, I was walking my dog along Hayvenhurst Road and I heard a woman screaming. It was coming from the beach. That's right, please send the police right away – it sounded like she was being attacked."

* * *

"Miss Parker, where are you?"

"Never mind that, Broots," she snapped. "I need to know if Adam is with you."

"Um, no," he said, nervously looking around. "Adam and the Major were separated this afternoon. Everyone is out looking for him."

"Damn it!" She hit the steering wheel with the phone then took a deep breath and brought it back to her ear. "Call everyone – and I mean everyone, Broots – tell them that they have to stop the search. Lyle has both Adam and Jarod."

"Again?"

Ignoring the tech, she continued at an authoritative pace, "I am on my way to where he's keeping them. I'll call as soon as I know the situation. No one is to make a move until I call. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," the man nodded. "I'll tell them but the Major isn't very good at waiting. He really wants . . ."

"I don't give a damn what the Major _really wants_, Broots," she spat. Taking a breath and silently apologizing to the man, Miss Parker forced a less emotional, but still terrifyingly firm voice, "Listen to me, very closely because I am not going to repeat myself. Lyle is using Adam as leverage to force Jarod to . . . kill. If someone else Jarod cares about stumbles upon what's going on . . . ." Her voice cracked and, rather than let the balding man hear the emotion in her voice, she let the words fade.

"Oh, man. I'll tell him, Miss Parker. I'll make him understand."

She nodded curtly at his vow then disconnected the call. Tossing the phone on to the seat beside her, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and forced herself to look toward the ocean. The sun was gone. If what Philip Kelly had told her was the truth, Jarod had already passed the point of no return. Either the girl was dead by his hand, or Adam was gone. Though she did not believe Lyle would actually kill Adam, she did not put it past her brother to torture the boy in front of Jarod.

In either case, Jarod would blame himself for the outcome. He'd carried guilt with him for most of his adult life but, she knew this time would be different. For the first time in a long time, Miss Parker had no idea how Jarod would react. She only hoped he knew that he wasn't alone.

* * *

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled himself to a sitting position and brought the woman to his chest. Her body tensed at the touch, still unsure, but when he whispered a promise that he wouldn't hurt her, slowly Jillian began to relax.

After allowing her a few moments of peace, Jarod untangled himself from the woman and carefully laid her on the blanket. "I have to go. I have to . . ."

"No. Please . . ."

"It's all right, I won't be long. No one is going to hurt you again." When she reached out for him, he squeezed her hand and smiled sadly. "Jillian, I have to find my brother. I have to make sure he's safe, too."

Fear of being left alone gave the redhead the strength to push herself up but the burst of energy was temporary. Before Jarod realized what had happened, the woman collapsed in a heap on the sand.

Gently bringing the woman back to the blanket, he watched over her long enough to convince himself that her breathing and pulse were regular. Then, rising to his full height, the Pretender hesitantly backed away. When he reached the edge of the wall of boulders, he forced his gaze from her to the house, searching for movement. He was aware of the distant echoes of approaching sirens but Jarod was too distracted by thoughts of Adam's safety to consider where they were headed.

"I promise," he murmured, glancing back at the woman, "I will come back for you. When you wake up, everything will be better."

* * *

Miss Parker could not make the turn on to the small road that led to Jarod's beach house. The normally secluded property was alive with activity. Police cars blocked the mouth of the road, while flares, uniformed officers and trained dogs prevented access to the property from various points along the main thoroughfare and beach.

Pulling to the side of the road, she slid from her car and moved as close to the house as the police would allow. Ignoring their demands for her to return to the vehicle, she scanned the area for any sign of Jarod or Adam. It wasn't until she felt a strong hand on her arm that Miss Parker looked away from the beach house.

"Please return to your car, Miss." Though his tone was firm and filled with annoyance, she could see the young man struggling to remain polite. "You will have to turn around. This road is temporarily closed."

"Why? What happened?" She looked beyond him as an ambulance pulled through the police line. "Is someone hurt?"

"Please return to your car."

"Not until you tell me what's happened," she snapped, shrugging out of the man's hold as his grip began to tighten. "I know the man who lives there. I just want to know if he and his brother are all right."

"Trust me, Lady, if I could tell you something I would."

"You can tell me who that ambulance is for and why there are so many police here. While you're at it, you can tell me who called the media. There are two news vans setting up at the intersection."

"Look," he growled, glancing over his shoulder at the reporters and cameramen exiting the vans. "I have nothing to tell you. As for the TV crews, well, maybe the detectives are planning a press conference once their investigation is done. Until then, you know as much as I do."

"A press conference?" she repeated incredulously, her eyes darting from the man to the house. "What the hell is going on down there?"

As if it had been scripted, the door suddenly swung open. Led onto the porch by a man dressed in jeans and a white button up shirt, Jarod's hands were cuffed behind his back and his movements were slow but his escort did not seem to mind. He led the Pretender down the steps and into a waiting, unmarked patrol car then pulled at the radio clipped to his belt and slid into the driver's seat of the same vehicle.

"Detective Stratford is leading the investigation," the officer informed her, bringing Miss Parker's attention back on him. "You can leave a message for him at headquarters. Now, unless you want me to have you forcibly removed from the area, or arrested for interfering with an investigation, I suggest you get into your car and turn around."

Though his threats meant nothing to her, Miss Parker slid into the Porsche and obeyed the command. She had the name of the lead detective. Broots could find out all the information she needed. In the meantime, she had to follow the trail Philip Kelly had unwillingly laid out for her. She had to proceed as if Jarod had followed Lyle's orders to kill the girl.

Reaching for the cell phone she dialed Broots' number and brought the device to her ear. "Broots, it's me. Listen very carefully because I don't have time to repeat myself."

Quickly telling him about the scene at the beach house, she said, "Find out what you can about Detective Stratford. If there is even the slightest connection between him, Lyle, Philip Kelly, or the Centre, I want to know about it immediately."

She paused long enough to maneuver her car through the clusters of spectators that had suddenly appeared on the main road. Most of the faces were strangers to her but, as she scanned the crowd, she recognized some as people Jarod referred to as neighbors - though their properties were separated by almost half a mile of rocks and inhabitable beach on either side. The only solace she took was that their expressions were filled more with concern than with condemnation or the desire for dirt.

"I want you and Debbie to go to the hospital. Someone was taken out of here in an ambulance. I have reason to believe it is the missing woman. If it is her, Broots – I want to know her condition, as well as the names and background of her visitors and medical staff. Can you handle that?"

"Of course."

"If you see anyone you think might be connected to the Centre . . ."

"I'll call you," he finished for her. "Do you really think the Centre is going to turn up?"

"It's not out of the realm of possibilities, especially if they believe that the Pretender they created has turned into a serial killer."

"Um, where are you going to be, Miss Parker?"

"Tell the Major and Emily to meet me at the dock. I think Lyle is taking Adam to the ship."

"What about Jarod? I thought Lyle wanted to control them both."

She nodded as the unmarked patrol car was allowed through the barricade on to the main road. In the backseat, Jarod's head remained lowered, avoiding the harsh lights of the cameras until the vehicle moved past her Porsche. Suddenly, his eyes rose to meet hers and, when they did, she saw genuine surprise.

Though she had no idea if his shock was due to his situation, her presence, or some form of torture Lyle had subjected him to, Miss Parker found herself mouthing the words that everything would be all right. She thought she saw him nod and force a small smile but, due to the shadows that were enveloping the area, she couldn't be sure.

"_The bond between you and Jarod was severed the night you left him. There is nothing you can do for him anymore, Miss Parker."_

"We'll see about that," she muttered to the memory.

"Huh? We'll see about what, Miss Parker?"

Her eyes followed the car for as long as the road would allow. Her mind and heart were suddenly unable to concentrate on anything but him.

"Miss Parker, are you there?"

"Tell Margaret and Sydney to head to the police station," she continued suddenly, speaking as if there had been no gap in the conversation. "I think Lyle may have finally gotten his retribution. It looks as if Jarod has been arrested for murder."

TBC

feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer in part 1

A/N – Life is good (for me, anyway, I'm not so sure about Jarod). Anyway, as such, I haven't had time to write as often as I would like. So, I'm hoping the length of this chapter makes up, a little, for the lack of postings. I am trying to bring this story to a close before the end of the year. ;-)

Survival II – Retribution  
by imagine

Chapter 22/?

Jarod leaned forward, elbows on the table, and used the tips of his fingers to gently massage the area above his eyes. He tried to focus on his current situation but, despite the time that had passed, Adam's screams and Lyle's threats were still echoing loudly in his head.

"Headache?"

Dropping his hands, Jarod looked up at the man standing in the doorway. He judged Detective Ryan Stratford to be younger than him by about five years. He was fit, tan and though his expression was solemn, his eyes were not hard or unforgiving. Dressed casually, his white button-down shirt hung loosely over his faded jeans and curled around the badge still clipped to his waist.

"I can get you some aspirin."

The Pretender shook his head and sat back in the seat, his arms stretched out on the table. "I would much rather you tell me how Jillian is doing."

The man tossed two manila folders on to the table and took the seat opposite Jarod. "Her condition hasn't changed. She is still slipping in and out of consciousness so we haven't been able to talk with her."

"Therefore, you haven't been able to verify that what I told you was the truth."

Ryan hesitated, his right eyebrow arching inquisitively. "Was that disappointment or relief I heard in your voice?"

Jarod frowned and his jaw tightened at the words but he held the younger man's stare "I did not hurt her, Detective."

"So you've said, several times," he sighed. Opening the top file, he sifted through the pages inside for a few minutes then looked back at Jarod. "There are a lot of holes in the statement you gave us at the beach house."

Averting his gaze to the two-way mirror behind his visitor, the Pretender nodded. "I know."

"If you know, why don't you fill them in for me?"

It was the sincere curiosity in the man's tone, rather than the frustration or accusation he had expected, that made Jarod look away from the mirror. Detective Stratford was staring at him with an earnest expression, his green eyes wide and filled with questions rather than the expected condemnation.

"Tell me what Jillian can't, Jarod," he urged.

"I would, if I could."

The Detective frowned and sat back in his chair. His hands, like Jarod's, stretched out on the table as if he were preparing to push the piece of bolted-down furniture across the room. "Okay, then let's start with something you can tell me and see where it takes us. How did you get those bruises?"

Jarod abruptly dropped his head, turning it slightly as he rubbed the left side of his stubble ridden face, self conscious of the injuries in question. "It doesn't matter. They are not important."

"I think that, maybe, they are very important, although they don't appear as if you received them today. By their coloring, my guess is that they're at least a day old." He waited a few seconds for a response then asked, "Did you get them while you were at the hotel with Claire James?"

Jarod stiffened at the sound of the woman's name, his dark eyes slowly rising to meet those of his interviewer. "I told you, my injuries are not important. Move on."

Though Jarod's suddenly deep voice startled him, Ryan shook his head. "Did you know Claire James?"

"Stop playing games, Detective. You obviously know she and I were acquainted." Sitting back in the chair, Jarod crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the man. "I thought I was here to talk about what happened to Jillian Kincade. Why are you asking me about Claire?"

"Are you aware that someone raped and strangled Claire in her hotel room?"

Jarod shifted in his seat, his eyes darting from the detective to the mirror as an intense feeling of déjà vu flooded over him. "Yes."

"_I . . . raped her." Though there was no hesitation this time, the words sounded more like a question than a statement of fact. "I killed her."_

"In the past few weeks, there have been three other women murdered in the same way. Although their bodies were found along a remote bicycle path, and Claire's was found in the hotel, we believe we are looking for one man."

"_You killed her while she was pleading with you. Say it."_

"Did you know Jennifer Forrest, Rose Barber or Susan Pearce?"

Jarod shook his head, but said nothing. The voices – his and one he could not quite identify - were too real, too frightening for him to concentrate on a verbal response.

"Not even remotely?"

"I don't know," he murmured, rubbing his forehead. "Not that I am aware of."

"I see. For now, let's concentrate on Claire's murder."

Jarod closed his eyes in an effort to regain control of his emotions but the image of Claire's body bound to the bed flashed in front of him. Her arms were pulled over her head, her hair was tangled across the pillow, and her frozen expression was a mixture of desperation and accusation. As if a jolt of electricity had passed through his body, the Pretender's entire body shuddered at the memory. With a sudden gasp, his eyes snapped open and found Ryan watching him intently.

"We have a statement from a witness that puts you in Claire's hotel room at the time of the murder, Jarod. What were you doing there?"

Though the words were soft and held no intonation other than curiosity, Jarod winced as they induced more explosions of visions he could not control.

"_S__he needed proof that you had the ability to satisfy her. Evidently, you did the job very well because she's requesting an encore performance tonight."_

"What were you doing in Claire James' hotel room, Jarod? Did you kill her?"

His hands covered his eyes but the vivid image of Claire straddling Adam, her fingernails tearing at the bare flesh of his arms was burned into his brain. He could almost feel her weight as she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the young man's ear while her body stretched over his.

With his face still buried in his hands, Jarod wrapped his fingers through locks of his own hair and pulled at them while the heel of his palms pressed against his eyes. His breaths were heavy and gurgling with panic, but he heard himself release a gasped _**'no'**_ as Adam turned his face toward the wall, pulling at the restraints that held him beneath the woman.

For the detective, Jarod's disintegration was painfully mesmerizing. In a matter of moments, the confident, strong and seemingly intelligent man crumbled into a trembling mass of confusion and incoherency. With his face hidden, Ryan could not see if tears had formed in his eyes, however he could see the beads of sweat that began to follow a trail of muscles in his face. Meanwhile, the rise and fall of his chest was quick but his breaths were soft, as if he were trying to keep his suffering to himself.

As Ryan watched, however, he realized that, though Jarod's reactions to the questions should convince him of the man's guilt, they were having the opposite affect. When the soft but ragged word was uttered, he knew instinctively that it was meant as a word of protest, not as a response to the question that had been asked. Immediately, he rose from the chair and crossed to Jarod's side of the table.

"We need water in here – now," he barked, glancing toward the mirror. Then, softening his tone, he turned his attention back on his charge. Unsure, he slid his hand to Jarod's shoulder as the man dropped his head to the table, sandwiched between his arms, and let out another anxious whimper.

"Relax. Take a deep breath and tell me what . . ."

"I can't . . . I don't know . . . anything about . . . her death."

Though he had not meant to ask the man to tell him about Claire's death but, rather, to tell him what he could do to help, Ryan nodded. "All right, Jarod. For now, I will take your word for it. You don't know anything about Claire's death."

The door opened and, silently, a uniformed officer placed a bottle of water in front of the Detective. After removing the sealed cap, Ryan slid the bottle into Jarod's hand. "Drink this."

Slowly, the Pretender complied with the request and, just as slowly, the images of Claire abusing Adam faded. When the muscles in his chest, arms and back began to relax and when his breaths began to regulate, he lifted his bloodshot eyes to the man standing beside him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

Miss Parker forced herself to push away the image of Jarod's face as he sat in the back of the unmarked police car. As forlorn and confused as he might seem, she knew that, despite what Lyle and Philip Kelly believed, Jarod was more than capable of handling the situation. Jarod was nothing if not a fighter. 

With her eyes trained on the road, she concentrated on Adam. Though he was no longer the same child she promised to protect at the Centre, he had been through a lot in a very short time. She had no idea what had happened to him during his internment with Lyle but she knew the kind of damage her brother was capable of inflicting, and she knew that Adam had not escaped unscathed. The thought of the boy having to find the strength to endure being Lyle's captive for a second time in a week terrified her.

Bringing the Porsche to a stop at the edge of the marina parking lot, she glanced out at the dark water, her gaze settling on the ship anchored at the edge of the harbor. Despite the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, she did not draw her attention away from the vessel until the beams of approaching headlights reflected through the driver's side mirror of her car.

By the time she slid from the Porsche and closed the door behind her, Major Charles and Emily were at her side. The muscles in the Major's face and arms were taut, but, even in the darkness, his eyes betrayed his fear.

"He's not here," she said before either could utter a word. Then, glancing at the ship, her voice took on an angry growl. "Philip Kelly lied to me and I fell for it. The son of a bitch is leading us on a wild goose chase."

Following her gaze toward the marina, the Major shook his head. "How do you know?"

Miss Parker pulled her cell phone from the clip that held it to her slacks. Punching a two digit speed dial code, she brought the device to her ear and faced Jarod's father.

"As much of a moron as he can be, my brother is too smart to repeat his mistakes. We found the kid on this ship once already. Lyle would never try to hide him there a second time."

Before the Major could respond, she abruptly turned her back on him and brought the phone closer to her ear. "Broots, it's me. Check the airports in the area. Philip Kelly said Lyle came to the cabin directly from a meeting at the Centre. Find the plane he flew in on and find it now."

* * *

"Are you feeling better?" 

Nodding, Jarod leaned back in his chair, dropped his gaze to the bottle of water and took another sip.

"Good." Without taking his eyes off the other man, the Detective circled the table and returned to the chair he had previously occupied.

"I don't know who killed Claire James."

Ryan hesitated, startled by the softness of Jarod's voice. "Let's forget about Claire. As you pointed out, she was not the reason you were brought into the station."

"And I have already told you everything I can about Jillian. I can't tell you how she ended up on my beach."

"I don't want to know about Jillian. I want to know what _you_ did today."

Jarod sighed and looked at the man. "I don't understand."

"It's a simple request, Jarod. Fill me in on the events that led up to what my men and I walked in on at the beach house. You can start by telling me where and when you woke up this morning."

"I am not to be rude or uncooperative, Detective," Jarod said dryly, "but my activities today are none of your business."

"Actually, they are."

Straightening his posture in the chair, Jarod placed the bottle of water on the table. "If you have decided that I am an official suspect in Jillian's attack, and plan on questioning me as such, I suggest that you read me my rights."

"Is that what it would take to get a straight answer out of you?"

He grinned wryly and shook his head. "No, that is what it would take for me to request my phone call."

"I see." The man nodded and looked back at the file in front of him. "So, let me make sure I understand. Unless I arrest you, you have no intention of filling in those gaping holes in your statement. You have no intention of telling me how Jillian Kincade came to be at your beach house."

"There is nothing more I _can_ tell you, Detective."

Rising from his chair, he stared at the Pretender. "You know, Jarod, I've been doing this job a long time. My instincts about people are pretty good and, right now, they're telling me that you _want_ to be arrested."

Jarod said nothing, but held the man's gaze.

"And, if I factor in those bruises you refuse to discuss, I might actually start to think you are as much of a victim in all of this as the girl."

"Am I under arrest, or not?"

Releasing a heavy sigh, the man glanced at the closed door, then looked back at the Pretender and nodded. "I have no idea what game you're playing but, all right, yes, Jarod, you are under arrest in connection with the kidnapping, assault and attempted murder of Jillian Kincade."

Jarod closed his eyes and lowered his head as the detective listed his Miranda Rights.

"_You have the right to be angry," Lyle said as he circled the chair. "I don't blame you a bit."_

"_What have you done with my brother? I want to see him."_

_He smiled and came to a stop in front of the Pretender. "Before that can happen, you need to do one or two more things for me. Cooperate and you will be able to talk to him very soon."_

_His eyes darted from Parker's brother to the sweeper and then back again. _

"_Do you hear those sirens? They're coming for you, Jarod," he taunted. "Unless you want to spend the rest of your life as a guest of the California Department of Corrections, with no hope of ever seeing the boy again, you will do as I say. Do you understand?"_

"Do you understand these rights, as I have read them to you?"

Pulled from the memory, Jarod nodded and looked up at the man. "I understand and I would like to make my phone call now."

* * *

"Miss Parker, I found it. Lyle's jet landed at a small airstrip about twenty-five minutes from where you are. According to the flight plan his pilot filed, he is scheduled to take off in about ninety minutes." 

She glanced at her watch then at the Major, as he stepped in front of her. "What is the destination?"

"Denver."

Her thoughts drifted to the files still hidden in her apartment that showed shipments to Atlanta, Phoenix, and Denver. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

"All right," she sighed. "It won't matter anyway, as long as we get to the airstrip before they can take off. Give me the directions - now."

* * *

Margaret rose from the wooden bench and, before Sydney could stop her, moved across the room. As she reached the small wooden and glass railing that split the area into official and non-official areas, so did the man exiting the interrogation room. 

"Excuse me," she said, shrugging out of Sydney's touch as he stepped behind her. "Are you Detective Stratford?"

The man looked at her and shot a quick glance at Sydney, then approached the barrier. "Yes. What can I do for you?"

"I want to see my son," she said simply, motioning toward the room behind him. "They told me I could see him when you were done questioning him."

Glancing once more at Sydney, he brought his eyes to the woman and asked, "You are Jarod's parents?"

"I'm his mother. His father will be here soon." Then, looking at the man behind her, she added, "Sydney is a friend."

"How did you find out he was here?"

"We received a call from one of his friends. They said an ambulance was at Jarod's house and that he was being taken away in handcuffs." She hesitated then, taking a deep breath, asked, "Who was in the ambulance?"

Releasing the latch on the short fence separating them, Ryan moved to her side. "Let's sit down."

"No." Pulling out of his gentle touch, she motioned toward the room. "I asked you a question. Why won't you answer me?"

"Margaret, calm down," Sydney interjected.

Without hesitation, she turned on him, her eyes flashing with enough energy to make him step back. "Do not tell me to calm down! Jarod is locked up and Adam is missing. For all we know, Adam may have been in the ambulance."

"I promise you, Jarod is fine. Who is Adam?"

Immediately, Margaret turned her attention from Sydney, the unshed tears the only evidence of her frantic tirade. "Adam is my younger son. Jarod's brother. Was he . . . was he in the ambulance?"

"No. A young woman named Jillian Kincade was taken to the hospital." Ryan shook his head, noting that both Margaret and Sydney moved into each other as he did. "How long has Adam been missing?"

"He's not missing," she insisted, abruptly moving to the center of the room. "When can I see Jarod?"

Confused by the woman's sudden change in demeanor, Ryan shook his head. "Jarod is currently making his phone call. When he's done, I will make sure he knows you are here."

"Are you telling me that you have charged my son with a crime?"

"I'm afraid he gave me no choice. He's being charged with kidnapping and assault."

"That is ridiculous! Jarod would never . . ."

"I want to see my son," she said, interrupting Sydney with a dark voice. "I want to see him now."

* * *

"It's done. Let me talk to my brother." 

"Now, is that any way to ask for something you want? What's the magic word?"

Jarod released a short, tight breath. "Let me talk with my brother. Please."

"That was much better." Lyle smiled and glanced at the young man sitting next to him. "But, I'm going to need a few more details before I give you your reward. Tell me exactly what happened."

Jarod pressed the phone closer to his ear and, though he knew no one was listening to his conversation, turned his back on the two-way mirror. "You got what you wanted, Lyle. I have been arrested for the assault on Jillian."

"That's all? I find it difficult to believe that California's Finest hasn't connected you to Claire or the others."

_The others. _Jarod swallowed hard and rubbed his forehead. "I am a suspect. It seems they have a witness who claims I was with Claire when she died. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"You _**were**_ with Claire when she died," he stated innocently.

"But, I didn't kill her," he growled.

"I know you want to believe that but, the truth is, you have no memory of what happened in Claire's room. Isn't that right? Admit it, Jarod, you might have been responsible. You had motive and opportunity."

Jarod hesitated as another image of Claire and Adam flashed before his eyes, the boy crying out as her mouth closed over his left nipple. Involuntarily, Jarod's hand moved to the same area on his body and winced at the tenderness.

"Admit it, Jarod."

"Fine, I admit it. I don't remember what happened after you and she brought me into the room." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak and confused. His breaths were, once again, labored and he could feel his panic growing in tandem with the imaginary Adam's. Somehow, the fear and pain he was witnessing Claire dispense to his brother during the visions were beginning to manifest on his own body, but Jarod's mind was too overloaded to consider how it was possible. "_**Please**_, Lyle, let me talk with Adam."

Lyle shifted his gaze back to Adam and nodded. "All right, I suppose you earned a minute."

While he waited for the phone to be transferred, Jarod struggled to regain control of his voice. The last thing he wanted was to frighten Adam.

"Jarod, is that you?"

He smiled. "It's me, Little Brother. Are you all right?"

Adam hesitated. Jarod's voice was shredded and the short question was punctuated with breaths as thin as those inhaled by Raines. "I'm okay. What about you? Where are you? They won't tell me what happened at the beach house."

"Nothing happened that you need to be concerned about," he promised.

"Jarod . . ."

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop this from happening. I . . ."

"None of this is your fault," he insisted. Though his brother's voice was stronger, it was taking on an apologetic tone that Adam found annoying. "Do not let them make you take the blame."

". . . will do whatever is necessary to protect you," he continued, speaking over the interruption.

"What do you mean? What are you doing, Jarod?"

It was difficult for him to ignore the questions, but Jarod managed to swallow the words that would just upset the boy. He wanted to give him hope. "Dad and Miss Parker are going to find you, Adam. They're not going to give up until you are home."

"I know. Jarod, where are you?"

He looked around the interrogation room and took a deep breath. "I'm safe."

"I heard Lyle's end of your conversation and it didn't sound like you were safe," he argued. "Please, tell me what is happening."

"Everything is under control, Adam, just don't believe anything Lyle or Willie tells you," he replied, forcing a calm voice. "I love you. Mom, Dad, and Emily love you. Even, Miss Parker, in her own way, loves you. You need to focus on that, not on lies. It will give you the strength to get through this."

"Jarod . . ."

"Okay, that's enough," Lyle announced. Grabbing the phone from the young man, he brought it to his ear and asked, "Do you know what you have to do?"

"Yes."

"Philip will be there soon. He will know if you failed, Jarod, and if you fail . . ."

"I won't fail, Lyle," he growled, "but, I swear, if you betray me – I will find a way to make you pay."

Lyle laughed at the threat and disconnected the call.

* * *

When the door opened, Jarod was pacing the length of the room. His arms crossed over his chest, he glanced at the Detective as he entered, but never stopped his movements. When he reached the wall, he pivoted and retraced his steps. 

"You have a good system here," he said, as he passed the man. "I hung up the phone less than a minute ago."

"Forty seconds, to be exact."

Jarod turned at the wall, shot a semi-amused grin at the man then continued his nervous trek.

"How long, before your lawyer arrives?"

The Pretender shrugged and took a deep breath, facing the man from the opposite end of the room. "Your guess is as good as mine. I didn't call a lawyer, but the person I called will take care of it."

"Who did you call?"

"I don't think you're supposed to ask me that question."

"There's no law against it," he said, lowering himself to the chair at the head of the table. "Did you call a friend or someone from your family?"

Approaching the table, Jarod crossed his arms and looked down at the man. "Neither. Why are you so interested in my phone call?"

"Because your mother and someone named Sydney are here to see you." As soon as the words were spoken, Jarod's gaze moved to the two-way mirror. Though he knew it was impossible, for a moment, it seemed to Ryan as if Jarod was able to see beyond his own reflection and beyond the walls that separated him from his family. "They're worried about you."

"Tell them to go home."

"What?"

"I don't want to see them," he said softly. "I can't see them."

Rising from his chair, Ryan stared at Jarod, expecting the man to offer an explanation. Instead, the Pretender silently moved to a nearby chair, purposely keeping his back to the mirror. The muscles in his face were tight, his mouth was a thin line, and the veins in his neck looked like they were about to pop from the tension. If it hadn't been for the softness of Jarod's dark eyes, Ryan might have believed the man wanted to sever his connection to his family.

"Tell them . . . Tell them I am fine and that I want them to go home."

Ryan started toward slowly toward the door, stopping when he was an arms length away. Facing Jarod, he adopted an authoritative voice and shook his head. "First, I want you to tell me about Adam."

The hesitation was slight, but Jarod shifted in the chair so that only his upper body turned toward the Detective. Though his expression was still tight, and his arms remained crossed over his chest, the muscles in his face, shoulders and biceps seemed to relax expectantly.

"What about him?"

"Why didn't you tell us he was with you at the beach house?"

Jarod looked away. "Why would you think he was?"

"Your mother was concerned that he might have been in the ambulance. The only way that could have happened is if he had been with you at some point."

"My mother is mistaken. Or, you misunderstood her."

"I don't think so. Where is he now, Jarod? What happened to Adam?"

"I think it's time you leave, Detective. When my lawyer arrives . . ."

"When your lawyer arrives, I'm going to get even fewer answers out of you," he muttered. Taking a deep breath, he stared at the man who was staring at the wall. "I don't know why, but I want to help you, Jarod. In order for me to do that, you need to talk to me."

When the Detective was gone, Jarod slumped forward, using his elbows to support his weight on the table.

"I wish I could," he whispered.

* * *

The cabin was the epitome of disarray. The dining table was toppled. The chair Jarod had been bound was now kindling and scattered across the hardwood floor. The surveillance cameras that were once bolted at the corners of the ceiling were now dangling like a child's Slinky. 

As Lyle moved through the rooms with his automatic gripped firmly in his right hand, he knew that his actions were pointless. There was no doubt in his mind that his sister was responsible for the destruction and she was long gone.

"Hello? Is somebody up there?"

Lyle's jaw tightened as he crossed to the door leading to the basement cell.

"Hello?"

Still holding the automatic, he started down the steps, unsure of whether or not he was going to fire a shot. At this point in his plan, he needed Philip Kelly but, he also needed competence.

"Lyle," the man breathed, "thank goodness. I was hoping it was you. You should have warned me about Miss Parker's abilities."

"I told you she and Jarod had a bond. I told you not to underestimate her," he growled. Aiming his firearm at the lock, he pulled the trigger and waited until the door swung open. "Did you think I was joking?"

"Not underestimating her, and being prepared for the kind of attack she delivered, are two very different things. Your sister is a very powerful woman and she is furious about the things that have been done to Jarod. She knocked me unconscious only so she could revive me and do it again. She pushed my hand through the stained glass window in the door. My ribs are bruised. I think she . . ."

"She's my sister, you idiot." Pushing the man against the wall, Lyle ignored his painful cry of protest and brought his face within inches of the doctor's. "You're lucky you're not dead."

Philip froze. The flash in Lyle's eyes combined with the low tone of voice made his skin crawl He had seen Lyle angry before, even witnessed his wrath being taken out on Jarod but, until now, had never considered the possibility that he might experience it first hand.

Lyle held the man, more with the force of his stare than with his physical strength. The power he had over the doctor was electrifying and, at any other time, he would have taken full advantage. Fortunately, for Philip, though, Lyle knew that solidifying the tenuous hold he had on Jarod was more important.

"The next time I give you a warning," he growled, "I expect you to heed it. Is that clear?"

Unable to find his voice, Philip nodded.

Pushing away from the man, Lyle took a deep breath and pointed toward the door at the top of the stairs. "Let's go. My plane leaves at Midnight and, before I go, I want assurances that you can manage to take care of Jarod while I'm gone."

The doctor stumbled, more than climbed, up the steps, hurrying to keep ahead of Lyle. As he crossed the threshold into the cabin, though, he slowed his pace. His eyes scanned the damage, his mind instantly reminding him of the injuries that had been inflicted in each part of the room.

"The room looks as if it had been struck by a tornado."

"My sister is nothing, if not thorough," Lyle replied, stopping beside the man. The inflection of pride caused Philip to shoot a look at the man. Meeting his gaze, Lyle grinned. "It's a Parker family trait."

"It will take me weeks to go through this mess. There is no telling what she may have found."

"You don't have weeks," Lyle countered, his tone once again filled with venom. "Jarod is at the jail. He's been arrested."

"Arrested? Are you saying that he actually went through with it? Jarod murdered the girl?"

"Unfortunately, no, however, he is cooperating. He has left out just enough of what happened at the beach house to incriminate himself on assault and kidnapping charges." Moving in front of the man, Lyle stopped in the middle of the office. "He has already been told to refuse see anyone except you, and his lawyer."

"So, you used the phrase?"

Lyle shook his head. "I didn't need to. I used his brother, instead. I told you, Jarod will do anything to protect family."

"If Jarod is that loyal to his family, they must feel the same toward him. How long do you think it will take before they convince him to let them help him?"

"Not long, if my sister manages to see him," he admitted, "Which is why you need to spend as much time as possible with him. Do not let any of them in to see him. You said you needed one on one time with him. Now is your chance."

"Working with him while in the holding cell of a jail wasn't exactly what I had in mind. If his true memories are starting to seep through, I am going to need extensive, private sessions with him."

"Take what you can get and work with it. For now, Jarod is staying put."

Sifting through the papers and debris scattered around his desk, the doctor sighed. "When is his arraignment?"

"Late tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest," Lyle replied, watching as the man searched drawer after drawer. "But, don't worry about it. Jarod is going to remain behind bars until his trial begins."

Philip glanced at the man over his shoulder. "How can you be sure there won't be bail?"

Lyle grinned. "The same way I know he is going to be found guilty on all counts. Trust me you will have plenty of time to work with Jarod."

Shaking his head, Philip returned to his search of the desk, but said nothing.

"What are you looking for?"

Sighing heavily, he rose to his full height and looked around the room before bringing his gaze back to Lyle. Seeing the harsh, determined glare of the man, he shook his head. "It's nothing important. Just some data I compiled that I wanted to review."

"What kind of data?"

He heard the suspicion in Lyle's voice and forced himself to remain calm. "I promise, it's nothing you need to be concerned about. Considering the mess your sister made, I am sure it will turn up."

Lyle looked unconvinced but Philip had no intention of offering any more information.

"Shall we go?" he asked, retrieving his jacket from the floor of the closet. "As you said, it is important that I spend as much time as possible with Jarod."

* * *

Adam stumbled forward as he was pushed into the cabin of the jet, his shins colliding with the hard base of the bench on the opposite wall. Though he let out a soft grunt, he said nothing as he turned toward his captor. 

"Not there," Willie growled, when the boy began to lower himself to the seat. "You're sitting in back."

Shifting his gaze from the sweeper to the open door behind him, he watched the Town Car pull away.

"Where did Lyle go?"

"It doesn't matter where he went," he replied. "All you need to know is that, for the next thirty minutes, it's just you and me. Now, move!"

Nodding hesitantly, he glanced at the digital clock above the door then turned and started down the aisle that ran down the center of the cabin.

For as long as he could remember, being alone with Willie had been his ultimate fear. The sweeper was unpredictable. The closest he ever came to being kind was when he was being indifferent and his mean streak could be borderline sadistic. But, as Adam continued through the plane, he found that his fear for Jarod was stronger than his fear of Willie.

Reaching around the younger man as he came to a stop at the end of the aisle, Willie pulled at the door and motioned for Adam to move forward. "Get in."

"The baggage area," he sighed. Looking at the man over his shoulder, he cocked his head to the right. "Lyle tells you to make sure I don't escape and this is the best you can do? Really?"

"Get in," he repeated, his voice dropping into a growl.

Instead of following the order, however, Adam forced himself to keep his gaze on the sweeper. His eyes searched the man's face, dropped the length of his body then returned to where they'd begun. For reasons he would never be able to explain, he let a small smirk settle upon his lips.

"What are you staring at?"

Responding with a shrug, the young Pretender moved into the baggage area and, upon reaching the center, faced the man defiantly. Willie's scowl was enough for Adam to avert his gaze, but not before he saw the handcuffs dangling from the man's hand. A second later, the Sweeper pinned him, face first, against the wall.

"I didn't do anything," he protested, as his arms were pulled violently behind his back and restrained.

"You never do, yet, you are always in trouble with me, aren't you? You're just like Jarod – sneaky, arrogant and stubborn. Why Lyle would want more like you is a mystery to me." Grabbing the boy by the hair, he yanked him backward and pushed him to the floor. "Tonight, though, you're going to cooperate. Tonight, if you are half as smart as everyone claims, you are going to keep still and quiet. Is that understood?"

Without giving the boy a chance to respond, Willie turned away, satisfied that he had added enough fear to keep Adam compliant.

"When did it happen? When did you become afraid of me?"

Pivoting toward his captive, Willie drew both hands into tight fists. "I have never been afraid of you, Little Boy."

"Maybe not, but I think you are now. I'm not a little boy anymore, am I? I'm no longer the helpless child you used to terrorize on behalf of Raines. I'm not even the insecure kid Lyle let you intimidate last year, at the warehouse."

"You haven't changed that much."

Uncurling his hands, Willie smiled and, without warning, struck his captive across the face. Though Adam was caught off guard by the attack, he suppressed the cry of surprise. Slowly, he turned to look at the man, his eyes hardening despite the fear that was beginning to rise from the pit of his stomach.

"It must really suck for you that I'm right."

"Keep talking. I have no problem putting a bruise on the other cheek as well."

"Of course you don't. You never had any trouble hurting me," he snapped, turning slightly to remind the Sweeper of his restraints. "But, you also never needed me to be wearing these before, either, did you?"

"I don't need them now, either."

"Obviously, you do," he muttered. When Willie took a warning step in his direction, Adam forced himself to look the man in the eye but hid his surprise when the Sweeper came to an abrupt halt. "At the Centre, when you hit me, bullied me, or taunted me, you didn't need restraints because I never fought back. Instead, I would burrow into myself to escape the pain. Thanks to Raines, I actually thought I deserved whatever you were dishing out. But, you knew that, didn't you? The two of you enjoyed feeding my fear and insecurities."

The muscles in Willie's jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

"As I got older, you found ways to keep me from finding a safe place in my mind. You deprived me of sleep," he continued, his voice becoming deeper with each accusation. "You locked me in dark rooms then filled it with sounds that still haunt my nightmares. Those screams, cries, and desperate calls for mercy almost destroyed me."

"And, yet, you're still here."

"No thanks to you or Raines," he hissed, realizing he was no longer pretending. "If it were up to you, I would have lost my mind by now."

"Not your mind," Willie corrected with a grin. "Mr. Raines was very careful about preserving your mind. It was your spirit he wanted to kill."

"And he came closer than he, or you, could ever imagine," Adam admitted, softly. "If it hadn't been for my family . . ."

"You don't have a family. You are nothing more than a freak of nature," the Sweeper spat. "You were created in a science lab."

"I may have been created in a science lab, but I came to life when Jarod and my father rescued me from Donoterase. Thanks to you, it took me a long time to believe they cared about me, though," he shot back angrily.

"They don't. The only reason they keep you around is because you're Jarod's replica."

"There was a time when I believed that was true. I was afraid they'd hurt me the way you used to or, worse, send me back if I did something wrong and, honestly, I tested the theory several times. But, you know what? No matter what I did, no matter how I acted, or what I said, they continued to love me. They taught me how to trust myself, how to trust others, how to protect myself, how to deal with my emotions. And they did it _without_ corporal punishment."

"How sweet," Willie muttered. "Too bad you are about to lose it all. I, however, will enjoy retraining you."

Taking a deep breath, Adam let the man's words fade before continuing, "When I was on the ship, I survived everything Lyle did to me. He hung me by my wrists in the ship's refrigerator; he tossed me into the ocean, bound and blindfolded; he even tried to convince me that my family didn't want me anymore. But he never broke me."

When Willie said nothing, Adam dropped his eyes and his voice as he continued, "Yet, when Ian told me you were coming for me, everything changed. The thought of you coming back into my life - threatening me, standing over me in the night, and barking orders at me - was almost more than I could handle."

"Almost doesn't count."

Adam scowled and shook his head at the evil smile spreading across the Sweeper's face. "Now, I can't believe that I was ever even remotely afraid of you. You are a coward. You are nothing."

"And, you're walking a very thin line, Little Boy. Shut up or . . ."

"Or you'll gag me?" he taunted angrily as the man pulled a length of cloth from his pocket. "Go ahead. It will just prove my point. You can't control me the way you used to because I've grown up, Willie, and you've grown old. If you weren't afraid of me, you would be taking a much more physical approach to keep me in line."

Bolting forward, Willie dropped the gag and, taking hold of Adam's shirt, pulled the boy to his feet. "That can be arranged."

* * *

"What happened to you?" 

"Just a slight accident, it is nothing to be concerned about."

"Who said I was concerned?" Jarod replied, watching the man stiffly lower himself to the wooden chair. "I just wanted to offer Sydney's services."

The man frowned. "And what might those services be, Jarod?"

"He can write you a prescription for pain medication."

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"Are you sure?" Jarod taunted. "All you have to do is take two or three pills with a large glass of Scotch before you go to bed tonight. I promise that you will sleep like the dead."

* * *

The airstrip was a twenty-five minute drive from the marina. For Miss Parker, it was fifteen.

"_Are you absolutely sure about this?"_

"_Major, I know my brother better than I care to admit. Adam is not on that ship."_

Now, as she doused the lights of the Porsche and let it roll to a stop in a dark end of the parking lot, Miss Parker felt a twinge of self doubt. Adam's life was dependant on her making the right choice.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

Miss Parker nodded. "That's the Centre jet."

The Major looked at the aircraft and shook his head. "I don't see any movement. It looks empty."

"It's not."

* * *

"It's almost midnight. Shouldn't you be home, asleep?" 

Ryan nodded, but did not shift his attention from the interrogation room. "There's something not right about this, Lou. I just can't put my finger on it."

"You mean, aside from the fact that you're watching a suspect and his lawyer?"

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he glared at the man. "First, the audio is off and, believe it or not, reading lips is not one of my talents. Second, it's not his lawyer. His lawyer isn't due in until tomorrow morning."

"So, who is it?"

"It's his therapist – Dr. Philip Kelly."

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked, shooting a quick look at Lou. "I would have told him to come back tomorrow but Jarod insisted on seeing him tonight. He refuses to see anyone else, including his mother, in favor of this guy."

"You think he's setting up a sanity defense?"

He sighed and shook his head as Jarod sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know. I don't think so. I don't think he's guilty."

"He looks tired."

"It's more than that. You should see the bruises on his face, neck and wrists," he sighed. "I'm telling you, something isn't right about all of this. The problem is that the victim is slipping in and out of consciousness. She was dehydrated, malnourished, and almost over-dosed on the sedative she'd been fed. The doctors say it could be another twenty-four hours before she's coherent."

"No witnesses?"

"None that I can find," he admitted. "Although the mother gave me the impression that her other son was at the beach house."

"So, where is he?"

"Good question. First she said he was missing, and then she denied the fact."

Lou was silent, watching as Jarod averted his gaze, a scowl settling on his face. "Sure doesn't look like your guy wants to interact with his therapist. How long have they been in there?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Jarod abruptly rose from his seat, his face filled with defiance and his fists balled at his side. Then, just as suddenly, he lowered himself to the chair, dropping his eyes submissively as he did. "Jeez, what are they talking about in there?"

"I don't know but maybe it's time I put a stop to it."

Lou nodded his gaze still on Jarod. "Yeah, send the guy to his cell for some sleep and tell the good doctor to come back during normal visiting hours."

* * *

After debating his right to continue the session with Jarod, Philip conceded to the Detectives evicting him from the interrogation room. Shooting a warning glare at the now docile, albeit confused, Jarod, he stepped into the main hall of the police station. 

"Move to the other side of the banister," the larger detective ordered.

He glanced in the direction the man had indicated only to be met with the angry stares of Jarod's mother and Sydney. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and moved toward the railing.

"How is it that you were allowed in the room with Jarod, and I was not?" Margaret hissed. "What have you done to him?"

"Margaret, calm down." Philip shifted his gaze to Sydney, noting that though the accented voice of the Belgian was neither calm, nor angry; his facial expression betrayed his rage. "We will sort this all out in the morning, after Jarod has had a chance to rest."

The woman's response, whatever it might have been, was interrupted when Jarod stepped from the room. Flanked by the two detectives, his wrists were loosely restrained in front of him and his head was lowered.

"Jarod," she called. "Baby, look at me."

Philip smiled to himself, knowing that it was taking every ounce of energy for Jarod not to acknowledge his mother's voice. He was following orders.

"Jarod, look at me," she repeated. "Please."

He watched the prisoner carefully. Though his mother's voice cracked with emotion, and her plea was soft, Jarod did not respond. Philip did notice, however, that the Pretender closed his eyes each time his mother spoke, indicating that he was having difficulty restraining his instinct to comfort her.

"Baby, we love you. Remember, we love you."

"Jarod, there is nothing you can do to shut us out," Sydney interjected. He glanced at Philip before adding, "You know who you are. Deep down, Jarod, you have always known. Trust that instinct."

"I won't leave, Jarod," Margaret added as her son moved passed her. "I love you. There is nothing you can do, or anyone can tell me about you that will change that fact. I will always be the proudest mother in the world."

Philip frowned when Jarod faltered. His head turned toward his mother's voice but, before it was high enough for their eyes to meet, he forced himself to look away.

The detectives led him up the shallow steps and opened the door at the top. Knowing that once Jarod passed over the threshold he would be led down a long hall to his holding cell and out of sight of his mother and Sydney, Philip let out a soft sigh of relief. Despite what Lyle believed, he was not convinced that the Pretender could alienate his family indefinitely, regardless of the situation.

"Wait!"

Philip, as well as Sydney and Margaret, pivoted toward the voice as the outside door crashed against its own hinges.

"Jarod!"

He slid his gaze back to the Pretender. Stopped at the arch of the door, his back was to the rest of the room. His stance was straight and his head was high, his eyes trained on something beyond t he doors. The detectives stared at their prisoner, the smaller of the two murmuring something that Philip could not hear.

Taking a step back, into the shadows, Philip watched as Lyle's hostage crossed the room, followed by Jarod's sister and father. At the end of the short parade was Miss Parker. Stopping before she reached the banister, she stood in the center of the room with her arms crossed and her eyes scanning the surroundings.

Holding his breath, Philip moved around the open door and slipped into the parking lot, silently praying she did not see him.

Margaret reached out for the young man racing toward the banister but quickly stepped away when she saw Jarod nod toward Detective Stratford and slowly begin to turn. When she saw the younger man release her son from the restraints, her first instinct was to say a silent thank you. Then, without hesitation, she reached over the railing and released the latch, clearing the only obstacle separating her sons.

Coming together at the top of the shallow steps, the met wrapped their arms around each other, each burying their face in the other's shoulder. From where she stood, Margaret could hear a muffled exchange between the two but she was unable to make out the words.

Jarod was the first to pull back, but only far enough to see his brother's face. His hand gently slid over the boy's split lip and the cut above his eye. "Who did this to you?"

"It doesn't matter," Adam replied, pulling his brother's hand down. "I'm all right."

"No, you're not," he countered, turning the boy's face to the side so he could inspect the bruise forming around his left ear.

"Actually, Big Brother, I am." Brining his eyes back to Jarod, he grinned, "In fact, I'm better than all right. You can stop trying to protect me. Thanks to you, I know how to give as good as I get."

Jarod's brows furrowed in confusion then, slowly, his expression melted into one of comprehension as he remembered the self-defense moves he'd shown the boy during his last visit. "Who?"

"Willie."

"Willie?" he laughed. Pulling the young man into another embrace, he whispered, "You go after the big dogs, don't you?"

"It runs in the family."

With his arms still around his brother, Jarod raised his eyes to the small crowd of people standing at the banister. He smiled at each of them but, when his gaze met the brunette standing in the back, he mouthed, "Thank you."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II – Retribution

by imagine

Chapter 23/?

Day 7

"You're up early. It's barely seven."

Jarod looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the man standing on the other side of the barred wall. "I could say the same for you."

"I had paper work to complete," the man shrugged.

Bringing his attention back to the window and the distant view of the ocean, the Pretender mindlessly, began stroking the outside of his arms. He knew for a fact that, the night before, Ryan Stratford had not left for home until almost one thirty in the morning. Jarod knew this because, after allowing him a private visit with Adam, the Detective had been the one to escort the boy out of the interrogation room.

Whether administrative duties were to really blame for the early morning visit, or not, he decided not to press the issue. Instead, Jarod concentrated on the small patch of waves that glistened beyond the buildings and trees. A mere twenty-four hours before, he'd had a much more expansive view of the same body of water from the balcony of Miss Parker's apartment. He'd been able to hear the waves rolling onto the shore, and the salt air had not only filled his lungs but caressed his face. It had filled his senses and, somehow, drained him of all anxiety. Now, no matter how desperately he tried to apply his abilities, he could not recreate the sensation.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

Jarod nodded and stepped back, lowering himself to the edge of the cot. "I managed to get a few hours."

The truth was that he had slept very little. Nightmares filled with images of various women pleading for mercy had been so vivid that he could feel their bodies writhing beneath him. Worse, though, was the disturbing surge of excitement that coursed through his body as the women alternated between cursing him and pleading for their lives.

Their voices, as well as his own, were distorted, but their terror was unmistakable. Each time they tried to bargain with him, each time their throats released a gurgle of suppressed pain; his dream-self grew more sinister. Seductive, and filled with dark amusement, his words taunted them with the promise of refuge, if they cooperated, even as he pushed deeper, ripping at their flesh.

The vibration of their cries against the palm he pressed over their mouths, the feel of their bodies going limp as he denied them their last breaths, and the way they suddenly stilled - their harsh, panicked expressions fading to ones that seemed almost angelic - stimulated him in ways he could not explain. On the outside, his body reacted as if it had been struck by a bolt of lightening – every muscle from his shoulders to his groin to his knees suddenly tightening painfully for a few heartbeats then, just as suddenly, going lax. Meanwhile, tears filled his eyes and, internally, Jarod was fighting to keep his throat open as the sour taste of bile rose from his gut.

Despite the vivid and terrifying images that haunted him, Jarod knew they were only partly to blame for his insomnia. The primary reason for his fear of sleep was his inability to shake the feeling that the nightmares were, in fact, a memory.

"Are you all right?"

Pulled from his thoughts and, suddenly aware of the weight of the other man's stare, Jarod nodded and slid back on the bedding. When he felt the cool brick wall against his spine, he brought his knees to his chest and let his arms hang loosely over the top.

"What is it that I can do for you, Detective?"

"I have a few questions. I thought we could talk."

Jarod raised an eyebrow and looked at the man. "Has my lawyer arrived?"

Ryan bit back a smile and shook his head. "Not yet."

"Then I guess you thought wrong."

He, honestly, had not thought a one-on-one conversation would happen, but it had been worth a try. Watching Jarod, as the man turned his face to the sunlight, Ryan asked, "Then I suppose I shouldn't ask if you've changed your mind about expanding your approved visitor list."

Jarod hesitated. "Why would you think I'd changed my mind?"

"I saw your reaction when your brother arrived last night. His name is Adam, right? You . . ."

"My brother and I were separated for quite some time, Detective. I was worried about him. My reaction last night was nothing more than relief," Jarod snapped. Glaring at the man, he hoped his tone would convince the Detective to accept what he was saying as he continued the half- lie. "Adam has nothing to do with why I am here – he has no knowledge of what happened at the beach house. Leave him alone."

Folding his arms across his chest, Ryan let silence settle between them before saying, "You know, if I were the suspicious type, I might think you were protesting a bit too much. I might even ask what Adam meant when he said you didn't have to try to protect him anymore."

"_You don't have to protect me anymore," Adam promised, using a voice only Jarod could hear. "You . . . we can concentrate on proving your innocence and getting you out of here. Lyle isn't calling the shots anymore."_

Though the words had almost been convincing, Jarod knew that Adam was wrong. Lyle was calling the shots. He would not let a disregard for his rules go unpunished. As willing as Jarod was to accept the abuse Parker's twin dished out he knew that Lyle's form of retribution would not be so direct. Lyle would continue targeting people Jarod cared about and put the weight of responsibility for their well-being on the Pretender's shoulders.

"_I will never stop fighting for my freedom, or my family, nor will I apologize for doing so." _

"_Even if your pride causes harm to those you claim to care about? Maybe you are just as dangerous to your family as Philip has always claimed." _

He was trapped. Regardless of the power he knew his mind held Jarod was unable to access it. Lyle's threats against his family kept him submissive and thoughts of disobedience were fleeting. Whenever he considered escape or, like now, confiding in someone who might be able to help, a voice from somewhere deep inside, warned him against disobeying Lyle.

"You misunderstood what Adam meant," he murmured, rubbing his forehead. "I'm his big brother. My instinct has always been to protect him, regardless of how he felt about it. Adam was just reminding me that he could take care of himself. Please, just leave him out of all of this."

Ryan smiled sadly and shook his head.

"I think you're lying. I think there was much more to that conversation, but I'm not going to push the issue. You see, Jarod, I am not trying to connect your brother to what happened at the beach house." He watched as Jarod dropped his gaze to a spot on the back of his hand and added, "Hell, I'm not even trying to connect you. If you recall, the only reason you were arrested was because you refused to answer my questions – and because you insisted I do so."

The Pretender raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. "You asked if I'd changed my mind about who I was willing to see. The answer is no. Why are you still here?"

"Because you have a visitor and I think you will want to see them."

"Tell them to leave," he said automatically.

"Don't you, at least, want to know who it is?"

"I told you to tell them to leave!" he growled, glaring at the man. "What part of that did you not understand?"

Ryan met Jarod's stare calmly then, finally, shook his head. "I don't get you, Jarod. You have something that many people dream of – a family who actually gives a damn. I saw you with them last night – you know how lucky you are. You obviously care deeply for all of them yet you insist on keeping them at arm's length. Why?"

The answer, for Jarod, was not as simple as it should have been. More than anything, he wanted the support of his family and needed contact with the people who were important to him. The fact remained, however, that Lyle wanted him isolated.

"_Do as you're told, Jarod. Disobey me and Gemini will pay the price. It is your choice."_

Ryan frowned as he took in the man's body language. In addition to keeping his eyes lowered, Jarod's head shifted from side to side, as if he were listening to something no one else could hear. His hands, no longer dangling over the tops of his knees, were balled into fists and tucked between his legs and his chest.

Keeping his eyes lowered, Jarod shook his head but, before he could speak, Ryan told him, "If you send her away, your sister is going to be extremely disappointed."

"My sister?" Jarod looked up, immediately making eye contact with the Detective. "_Emily_ is here?

Considering the self-imposed guilt she'd carried since his internment with Lyle the year before, Jarod had been sure that Emily, would stay away for no other reason than he had asked.

"I don't know her name; she just identified herself as your sister." Startled by the urgent tone and the terror that seemed to flash across the man's face, Ryan took a step closer to the bars. "She is being very insistent about seeing you."

"Why?" he pressed, rising to his feet. "Did something happen after they left here last night?"

"Darn, I left my crystal ball at home."

"Did she seem upset?" Jarod demanded, ignoring the sarcasm. "Didn't you ask her why she was here?"

"No, I didn't ask her. I'm not the one she came to see, am I?" Ryan pointed out. "All I can tell you is that she's been waiting for almost an hour."

Crossing the small cell in two steps, the Pretender grabbed the bars of his cage. "You knew from the monitors that I was awake. Why didn't you tell me, earlier, that she was here? Why would you make her wait?"

"Believe it, or not, this is not a hotel. We have posted visiting hours that are strictly enforced unless the visitor is directly associated with your defense," he snapped. "I broke the rules for you last night, Jarod, when I allowed you time with your brother. Don't push your luck. Now, do you want to see her, or not?"

Jarod stepped away from the bars, his eyes darting around the tiny cell. His thoughts, however, were on his sister. The fact that she had come to the jail alone, so early in the morning, and was being insistent about seeing him, meant something was wrong. A myriad of possibilities – none of them comforting - swam through his mind before he brought his gaze back to the other man. His face was tight, his muscles ached with tension, but when he spoke, Jarod's voice was deep and soft. "Yes. I want to see her."

* * *

Closing the door behind him, Lyle stood at the entryway long enough to scan the disarray of the adjoining rooms. Frowning, he retrieved his cell phone and crossed to the kitchen, weaving between the remnants of a broken chair. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the airport. You told me her flight was arriving at 7 and that I should meet her at the gate." Philip took another sip of his coffee and frowned as Lyle moved through the house, pushing and kicking anything in his path. "Judging by your tone, and your mood, I take it that you did not retrieve the boy."

"By the time I got to the police station, Jarod's family was gone. I spent half the night trying to figure out where they went and the other half retracing my steps." Lyle righted a toppled chair then moved out of the room, into the doctor's office. "I thought I might find a clue as to where they went in your recordings. Why haven't you cleaned up this mess yet? I can't find a damn thing."

Philip grimaced as he heard another crack of wood. "Just leave everything alone. I will find the recordings for you when I return."

"That won't be for a few hours," Lyle snapped. "I want you to take her straight to the jail. After she's had her interview with Jarod and appeared in court, you can take her back to the hotel. Until then, don't let her out of your sight. I do not want the lab rat telling her anything that could be detrimental to our cause. I do not want him telling her what really happened at the beach house."

"Then maybe you should have done as I suggested and put Jarod into his alternate state instead of using the boy as a means to keep him in line," the man spat. "If you had, Jarod would not know what really happened and, chances are, the boy would still be with you."

"And I would have retrieved the boy last night if you had taken the initiative to follow him from the jail. Tell me again why you let him slip away."

"I called you. That was the best I could do, under the circumstances," the man replied, moving along the large windowed wall. "If your sister had seen me, it would have been detrimental to Jarod's treatments."

"Not to mention how detrimental it would have been to your health."

The doctor felt his expression harden at the words, but said nothing. He would not apologize for wanting to keep as much distance between Miss Parker and himself.

Unlike Lyle, who wanted nothing more than to control every aspect of Jarod's body and mind so that he could slowly destroy the man's soul, it was clear that Miss Parker was motivated by a need to protect the Pretender. She put herself in harms way, emotionally as well as physically, to keep him safe. If he were pressed, Philip would have no qualms about admitting that the woman frightened him more than her twin.

"So, what are you going to do now?" he asked. "Without the boy, you have nothing to use against Jarod."

Crouching beside the desk, he pulled at the half-open bottom drawer, sighed and, without rising, pivoted to look at the files strewn across the floor. "The boy helped me get Jarod where I wanted him. Now it is up to you to make sure he stays there."

"You do realize that, as long as Jarod is in jail, I cannot collect samples."

"He won't be incarcerated long enough for our supply to slip below an acceptable level." Pulling himself to his full height, he added, "Each facility has enough for two more cycles, at least."

"That's only two months. You told me his bail would be denied and that he would be found guilty on all charges."

Lyle nodded and gingerly kicked at a small pile of clutter near the door of the office. "That's right."

"Does that mean the project is going to be put on hold until he's released?"

"Don't be absurd. If he serves his sentence, Jarod will be of no use to me," Lyle snapped.

"Then how do you expect to replenish the supply if Jarod is behind bars?"

"You're beginning to make me question why I hired you, Doctor. Think. Knowing what you know about Jarod, how can he be found guilty, and still do my bidding?"

His eyes trained on the airplane taxiing toward the gate, Philip hesitated then released a soft sigh. "Jarod is going to escape."

"There is hope for you yet," Lyle muttered, moving to another mound of papers.

"So, once he escapes, his conditioning will continue," Philip offered, hopefully. "As far as the authorities are concerned, Jarod will disappear from sight and I will finally have complete access to him."

Moving through the mess created by his sister's attack on the psychiatrist, Lyle crossed to the far side of the office. Behind the desk was more splintered furniture, broken glass and disheveled files but he found nothing that resembled the recordings he had hoped to find.

"Lyle, will I finally have complete access to Jarod when he escapes?"

"Yes," he replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance. The doctor's tone was having the same affect on his nerves as nails on a chalkboard. "Jarod will be all yours, for as long as necessary."

Philip sighed and smiled to himself at the promise of complete control over the Pretender, unaware that Lyle had not yet completed his thought.

"But, first, Jarod will attempt to take the life of one more woman."

* * *

Her back was to the door as he entered but Jarod did not need to see her face to recognize the woman.

"You have twenty minutes," Ryan told them as he unlocked Jarod's handcuffs. "If I see anything suspicious, you will have less."

Jarod nodded but kept his eyes trained on the woman. When the door closed behind him, he took a few steps toward the center of the room and drew a deep breath. "You aren't supposed to be here."

She turned slowly. Her arms were crossed in front of her and, as her blue eyes rested on his face, he saw the muscles in her shoulders and upper arm tighten. Dropping her arms, but not her eyes, she stepped in front of him. "Neither are you."

"Careful, Parker, someone might actually think you care."

Raising an eyebrow, she tilted her head to the left, her eyes still trained on his. "If I were you, Jarod, I would be more concerned about those who actually think you're guilty of kidnapping and assault than those who think I give a damn."

Taking a step back, Jarod sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "You must have something more important than that to say to me, Parker, so say it. After all, you lied to get in to see me."

"I lied because, last night you had a chance to talk with Sydney and you chose that quack, Kelly. If you refused Sydney, I knew that there wasn't a chance in hell you would see me."

"I refused to see my mother, too. Why were you so sure I would see Emily?"

"It was a gamble and it paid off," she shrugged, stepping back. "But, since we're on the subject, why _did you _refuse to see your mother and Sydney?"

"I have my reasons."

"They want to help you, Jarod. They're scared for you."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but things are better for everyone this way." Dropping his hands, Jarod turned away and moved toward the table. "For my family's sake, there needs to be distance between me and them. Once I am sentenced, I want them to leave the state and never come back. Make sure they understand, Parker. It's for their safety."

Startled by his words, as much as she was his change in tone, Miss Parker watched silently as the Pretender tiredly slid into a nearby chair. He rubbed his face with his hands then raked his fingers through his hair before she found her voice.

"It's kind of early to assume that you are going to be found guilty, isn't it? You haven't even had a bail hearing yet. And, in case you've forgotten, Jillian Kincade is not dead. As soon as she's awake, she will tell the police what really happened at the beach house. She'll tell them that you did not hurt her."

Jarod leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "I'm not talking about Jillian. By tonight, I have no doubt that your brother will see to it that there are other more serious charges against me."

"What are you talking about? What could they possibly charge you . . . ?" her words faded as Jarod stood and moved away from the table. "Is this about Claire James? Are you beating yourself up because of her?"

"Lyle saw to it that the police knew I was in her hotel room at the time of her death, Parker," he sighed. "He is doing everything in his power to prove to me that Project Retribution was a success. He has made me into a murderer."

"You didn't kill her, Jarod."

Jarod hesitated then smiled sadly. "You don't know that, Parker. Hell, even I don't know it, for sure."

"You don't know it, for sure," she repeated, "but you're willing to spend the rest of your life in prison paying for it."

He shot her an anxious glance before moving toward the door. Keeping his back to her, and to the two-way mirror, he leaned against the wall – his left shoulder bearing the bulk of his weight as he rubbed his eyes. "It's only a matter of time before they try to connect me to Jennifer Forrest, Rose Barber and Susan Pearce."

Before he had completed the statement, Miss Parker was on her feet and standing behind him. "They can try all they want. You did nothing to those women, either."

"You don't understand," he whispered, facing her. "I'm remembering, Parker. I'm remembering it all – their faces, their voices, and the way they felt under . . ."

"No. None of it is real, Jarod, that's what I came here to tell you," she interrupted. "Lyle and Kelly are manipulating you."

"I wish I could believe that were true, but . . ."

"It is true," she insisted. "They're the reason you have so many gaps in your memory."

Jarod's dark eyes met hers as he shook his head again. "Maybe you didn't hear me but gaps in my memory are not the issue this time. I_ remember_ the murders, Parker. I remember every last detail."

Miss Parker took a deep breath as he moved past her then spun toward him, but Jarod continued toward the table, keeping his back to her. "What about yesterday morning? Do you remember being at my apartment?"

"Of course, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Humor me. Do you remember the argument we had?" she asked as he faced her. "I wanted you to tell me about your dreams, and you refused. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember," he sighed. "You wanted me to tell you about the dreams but I was beginning to understand that they were actually memories. I didn't want you to know. Hell, I didn't even want to admit it to myself so I went on to the balcony to calm down."

"And I while you were staring at the ocean, I went to take a shower. When I came out, you were gone." She waited a heartbeat, watching the Pretender suddenly shift his gaze from her face to the mirror behind her. "Why did you leave?"

Jarod hesitated. "I needed to clear my head."

"How long did you wait before you left?"

"I don't know," he admitted softly. "A few minutes I guess."

"When you left the building, did you walk, or did you hail a cab?" When he was silent, she asked, "Did you go North or South? Answer me, Jarod."

"Why? Why does any of this matter?"

"Because it does," she hissed. "Do you actually remember leaving my apartment or are you trying to fill in a blank space with logic?"

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact that . . ."

"If it didn't matter, I wouldn't be asking. Now, answer the damn question."

"I can't," he snapped. "Is that what you want to hear? I don't remember leaving. One minute I was watching the ocean, the next I was . . ."

"Tied to a chair with Philip Kelly standing over you," she finished.

His reaction to her words was as if he had been slapped across the face. His eyes widened and, involuntarily, he took a step back. "How . . .?"

"I found the taxi driver you hired. He took me to the bridge that crosses the bike path and told me it was where he let you out. The driver said you were quiet for most of the trip, as if you had a lot on your mind. She watched his face as the words penetrated his mind, his expression melting from shock to confusion to shame as he lowered himself into the nearest chair. "Do you remember any of this?"

Jarod shook his head.

Releasing a heavy sigh, she slid an empty chair in front of him and sat down. When they were sitting, knee to knee, she continued, "Lyle and Kelly figured out a way to take control of your mind. They put you in a kind of hypnotic state where you do almost anything they tell you."

His brows furrowed, but he was silent.

"The blackouts you have are because they didn't fill in the time," she explained. "And the memories you have that seem … wrong … are ones they created for you."

"What you are saying is . . . impossible." His voice was deep and strong. If she had been anyone else, she might have believed the conviction he was trying to convey when his eyes met hers. But, the history they shared gave her the ability to see that Jarod was far from confident. "I would have known."

"I can prove what I'm saying. I was at the cabin, Jarod. I saw the control Kelly had over you . . ." Miss Parker's words faded as Jarod suddenly pushed himself to his feet. "I heard him building your memories, forcing you to repeat, over and over, that you killed Claire. He walked you through it, step by step."

Jarod's entire body tensed at the words, but he did not respond.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to believe me."

"You're wrong. I would have known," he murmured. "Even under hypnosis, I would have resisted. I would have . . ."

"On some level, I think you did. You fought him, Jarod, for as long as you could. But the more you rejected what he was telling you, the more he wore you down. I don't know if he drugged you, or did something else, but whenever you refused to repeat what he was saying, there would be a long pause. The next time I heard your voice, it was different - a little more accepting."

Jarod hesitated, then turned away and began pacing the length of the room. After he moved passed her three times, she stood and took his arm. Her touch made him come to an immediate halt, but the Pretender did not bring his eyes to hers.

"Kelly recorded his sessions with you. He bragged about how he'd used them to find your weaknesses. Those recordings are the key to finding out what really happened. I was up most of the night going through them but . . ."

Slowly, his gaze slid to hers but his eyes were still much harder than she expected. When he looked at the place where her hand was wrapped around his arm, Miss Parker found herself releasing him.

"Where are they?" he ground out. "I want to see these recordings."

Taking a deep breath she shook her head. "I didn't bring them with me. I left them with Sydney."

"Sydney? Why would you . . .?"

"Because he is the only person I know that might be able to figure out a way to help you through this," she replied, mirroring his angry tone. "I came here to make sure you would see him when he came to visit."

"You should never have dragged Sydney into this."

The sadness in his voice was worse than the anger she'd heard moments before. He no longer sounded like the strong, confident-to-the-point-of arrogance man she'd always known. He sounded confused. He sounded helpless.

"I didn't _drag_ Sydney into any of this," she told him gently. "Like your family, Sydney wants to help you. He always has."

Turning away, Jarod started toward the door. "Our visit is over, Miss Parker."

"No. Not until you tell me why you are so determined to alienate yourself. Did Lyle threaten to hurt anyone who helped you? If he did, I swear, I will . . ."

"Let it go, Parker. Your theory about Lyle and Philip was entertaining, but it doesn't change a thing," he said, his voice suddenly stronger and more insistent. "Tell my family I love them and that I am sorry but it has to be this way - at least for now."

Miss Parker was silent, watching him until he raised his hand toward call button by the door. Then, before she realized she'd made the decision to do so, she heard herself say, "A stolen child has no control."

* * *

"Is it really necessary for him to hurt another woman?"

"You seem to have forgotten that Jarod hasn't hurt anyone, yet."

"But he believes he has," Philip countered. "And it is having the same effect on him."

"My sources at the hospital say that Jillian Kincade is going to make a full recovery. Once she does, Jarod will be a free man. It is important that he be a fugitive. I want him to experience the desperation and . . ."

"So send your guard … Willie. I'm sure he can convince her to accuse Jarod."

"I would, if I could but after his inability to keep the boy on the plane, Willie is . . . unavailable."

"All right," he admitted, forcing himself to ignore the dark shift in Lyle's tone, "but you still have Claire. Thanks to you, the police already know Jarod was with her at the time of her death."

"It's not enough," Lyle insisted. "For some reason, the detective working the case is dragging his feet. It seems he does not want to accept the possibility that Jarod is the murderer. We have to force his hand, make him compare Jarod's DNA to the samples they took from the victims. If he does that, then he will have no choice but to change his opinion of the lab rat."

"And the only way to do that is with another attack?"

"No, but it's the most fun," Lyle grinned. "Besides, I am tired of Jarod refusing my orders, the way he did with Claire."

"I know he disobeyed and left the room, but he didn't try to intervene this time," the man pointed out. "He didn't try to protect her, the way he did with the others."

"It's a small consolation, Doctor."

Philip sighed. "With each attack, Jarod is becoming more and more compliant. My methods are working, Lyle. All I need is some time with him and . . ."

"Your methods are taking too long," he snapped. "Jarod will complete the next attack on his own."

"And, if he doesn't?" the doctor dared. "Hasn't he already proved to you that he is not ready to take that step?"

"Then his face will be plastered on every newspaper from here to New York. Everyone in America will believe he is a dangerous psychopath by the time I'm done with him. I will force him to alienate himself from his family. I will make him doubt his sanity, as well as his innocence. I will make him feel the same way I did while I was in Africa."

Philip hesitated. He had always known that Lyle's goal was to break Jarod's spirit as punishment for the things Lyle had had to endure in Africa. In his mind, Jarod was not the victim of what had happened at the cabin and he was not the villain. Lyle believed that the Pretender was at the root of every injustice ever inflicted upon him.

"What will that get you, Lyle? If Jarod is locked away, he won't be able to kill for you."

"He won't kill for me now."

"But he has the potential. I just need more time," the doctor pointed out. "Besides, with Jarod free, you have access to his DNA. You can continue with your project."

"My project is not in jeopardy. Though I would prefer getting my samples directly from Jarod, there is always an alternative."

Philip frowned and brought the phone closer to his ear as his eyes watched the door to the plane open. With his eyes scanning the faces of each disembarking passenger, he asked. "What kind of alternative? Unless Jarod has a twin, or a clone, you will never duplicate his DNA"

"I know."

* * *

"You're spending an awful lot of time in front of this mirror lately."

Without averting his gaze from the couple inside the interrogation room Ryan replied, "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on, Lou."

"I see our boy has a visitor. Is she a girlfriend or wife?"

"She claims she's his sister."

"You're kidding."

Facing the man beside him, he shook his head. "I guess I am not the only one who doesn't buy it, huh?"

Averting his attention from Jarod and Miss Parker long enough to make eye contact with Ryan, he answered, "Let me put it this way, if my sister had ever touched me like that, I would be in therapy."

They watched as Miss Parker slowly brought her right hand to Jarod's cheek. Her thumb slid gently over his lips while her fingers curled and followed the line of his jaw. Then, recoiling as if she were pulled from a trance, the brunette took a deep breath and stepped back, sliding the wandering hand down his arm and around his fingers. She led Jarod to the far corner, where, like a child being punished, he released her hand and sat with his back to the room.

"What is he doing?"

Lou shrugged, his brows furrowing as he watched Jarod grip the hem of his T-shirt with both hands. "It looks like he's taking off his shirt."

* * *

Moving away from Jarod, Miss Parker stood at the edge of the table, her eyes trained on the Pretender as she retrieved her cell phone from the pocket of her slacks. She waited until the shirt was half-way over his head before pressing the button that would activate the ringer. The device sounded in her hand and, simultaneously, the muscles in Jarod's back and shoulders rippled with tension.

"You have your refuge, Jarod," she murmured.

Silently praying she'd done everything correctly, Miss Parker watched Jarod closely as he became aware of his surroundings. Bringing the shirt completely over his head, he stared at it for a long moment before twisting to look at the call button beside the door. The confusion was evident in his movements but, before she could read his face, the Pretender turned away, staring at the piece of clothing still gripped between his fingers.

Still unsure of whether she had repeated the steps she'd seen in the recordings exactly as she should have, the silence was unbearable for Miss Parker. Just as she decided to cross to his side, though, Jarod inhaled sharply. Then, without raising his hands to steady himself, the man rose effortlessly to his feet. Relieved, the brunette felt the muscles in her shoulders and arms relax slightly.

Though his expression was harsh and accusatory, when he glared at her, Miss Parker did not respond verbally. Instead, she arched her right eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest, as if she were daring him to berate her for her actions.

"Relax," she told him, "I didn't make you bark like a dog or waddle to the corner like a duck."

His eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was deep. "I don't care what you did, just don't do it again. Ever."

"I'll do it every as often as it takes to convince you that I know what I'm talking about," she warned. "I saw the recordings, Jarod. Kelly and Lyle did much worse than make you sit in a corner and take off your shirt."

Slowly slipping the shirt over his head, Jarod took a deep breath. "I never doubted you, Parker. I just said that it doesn't change anything."

"You're wrong. Those recordings change everything."

Jarod shook his head and, exasperated, moved in front of her. Looking down, into the icy blue orbs he secretly adored, he growled, "No, they don't and I wish you would stop arguing with me."

"_You_ are the one arguing with _me_," she spat. "If Lyle . . ."

"If Lyle finds out that I've talked with you, he will come after my family," the Pretender interrupted. His expression suddenly somber, he softened his voice. "They've been hurt enough because of me, Parker. I won't let him hurt them again."

"Jarod, if you leave things as they are, then you will be the one to get hurt."

Nodding, Jarod released a soft sigh. "There is always that possibility."

"And you don't think that would destroy them?" she shot back.

"Parker, we can't do this your way. It is too dangerous," he insisted angrily. "Do not send Sydney – or anyone else – to see me. I will refuse their visits."

"I don't believe you. The Jarod I know would never give up without a fight."

"The Jarod you knew doesn't exist anymore." Capturing her eyes with his, he adopted an insistent tone. "Lyle rewired me, remember? He wanted me to be more like _him_. It was the whole point of Project Retribution."

"You could never be like him."

Jarod's smile was slow but the light in his eyes never appeared. "You forget, Parker, I can be anything I want to be."

* * *

"How long have they been in there?"

Ryan glanced at his watch. "Forty-five minutes."

"First you let the guy visit with his brother well after hours and now you've allowed him more than twice as long as the normal allotted time to visit with the brunette. You're getting soft, Stratford."

"Actually, my gut keeps telling me that he is a puppet in all of this. He knows what happened to Jillian Kincade and he knows what happened to Claire James. He's just not talking."

Lou looked into the interrogation room and shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to incriminate himself."

"Maybe," he sighed as he watched Miss Parker listening intently to whatever Jarod was telling her, "but I don't think so. He's definitely trying to protect someone – I just haven't quite figured out who – or why."

"Well, you're not going to figure it out right now. He has visitors."

Ryan looked at the man beside him. "His lawyer finally showed?"

Lou nodded. "That's why I'm here. She and that doctor – Philip Kelly – are waiting in the other room. Don't look at me like that; the guy claims Jarod will want him at the interview with the lawyer. Until Jarod says otherwise, I have no reason to refuse the request."

Ryan said nothing but stepped back; making room for his colleague to enter the interrogation room before following him inside. He found Jarod and the woman standing beside the table

"We just need a few more minutes," she protested.

"You've already had more time than you should have," Lou informed her, gently pulling Jarod's arms behind his back.

No one made a move to stop him as he slipped the handcuffs over Jarod's wrists, but when the Pretender was led from the room, Miss Parker reacted. Her hands balled into fists as her body jerked forward, following Lou and Jarod for only one step before coming to an abrupt halt.

"He'll be all right," Ryan promised. "He's just meeting with his lawyer."

She said nothing, opting to watch Jarod being led from the room in silence.

"It's time for you to go."

Nodding, she took a deep breath and moved toward the door. At the threshold, she turned as Jarod came to a hesitant stop in front of an open door at the end of the room. His gaze slid, subtly, toward the detective beside him before nodding and moving inside.

"How many times has he met with his attorney?" Finally turning away from the spot Jarod had disappeared, she faced Ryan.

His eyes met hers and, for reasons he could not explain, he found himself taking a step back. "As far as I know, this is his first time."

"I thought his arraignment was later this morning."

"That's right. Lou and I will be escorting him to the courthouse in about an hour and a half. His case is scheduled for ten thirty."

"And this is the first time he's meeting his lawyer? Cutting it a little close, wouldn't you say?"

Ryan smiled and shrugged. "She just arrived from Denver this morning."

The brunette considered the remark a moment, her gaze sliding from him, over her shoulder to the room that held Jarod and then back again. "What is her name?"

"You don't know who your brother's lawyer is?"

She bit back a smile that would mirror his and arched an eyebrow. "Don't play games, Detective. It doesn't suit you. We both know Jarod is not my brother; but, for the record, his family has no idea who he hired. Now, tell me who his lawyer is."

Suddenly, Ryan understood what he'd seen in her eyes a few minutes before. The woman was not trying to suppress her frustration at the situation, nor was she following some secret agenda. The blue eyed brunette was doing her best to protect Jarod and his interests. Ryan realized that he envied the man.

"Jarod's lawyer is Cara DeWitt."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II – Retribution

by imagine

Chapter 24/?

Miss Parker moved across the courtyard with a determined clip, the heels of her shoes echoing on the stone walkway. Vines of flowers she could not name covered one side of each of the buildings that surrounded her, their colors adding a vibrant contrast to the milky white stucco walls. Though there was no ocean view, the Pacific was no more than a twenty minute walk to the West. Whether it was intentional, or not, she did not know, but the residences seemed to be designed so there would always be a comfortable sea breeze wafting between them.

"Adam, that won't work. If you try to access the file without . . . Oh, it worked."

"Of course it worked," the young man responded. His fingers still moving over the keyboard, he added, "I told you that it would. Now all we have to do is manipulate the data in the files so that we can get a clearer picture of the pattern."

Following the voices, Miss Parker pulled at the screen door marked 'Unit 10'. She found Adam, and Debbie huddled around the mosaic table centered in the enclosed porch. Though they all glanced in her direction, and her appearance interrupted whatever discussion they'd been having, neither of the teens moved toward her.

"You were at Jarod's arraignment, weren't you? What happened? Is Jarod all right?"

Miss Parker turned to find Emily standing behind her. "I'll tell you everything in a minute. Where are your parents?"

"They're in our unit," she said, pointing across the courtyard as the screen door closed. "What happened with Jarod?"

"Go get them," she said, dismissing the younger woman. Then, looking back at Debbie, Miss Parker asked, "Where are your father and Sydney?"

Oblivious to the question, Debbie continued staring at the laptop. Shaking her head, she reached around Adam and typed in a command. Immediately, the screen changed. "Adam, look. If you do it this way, there are three patterns. There is a delivery every 28 . . ."

"Debbie!"

Startled, the girl drew her gaze from the computer to the brunette. "I'm - I'm sorry, Miss Parker. Did you say something?"

"I need you to focus."

"Yes, ma'am," she murmured, glancing guiltily at the computer. "It's just that Adam and I have been working on the files his father brought from your apartment and we think we are finally on to something."

The words penetrated her mind almost immediately. Her annoyance beginning to show, Miss Parker turned her attention on the boy. "Adam, what the hell is she talking about? What files did your father take from my apartment?"

Turning in his seat, the young man slowly looked up at the woman, but his eyes could not hold hers for more than a few seconds at a time without dropping to his hands. "He took the ones on your desk . . . but only because they were in my bag."

"Why were files from _my_ desk in _your_ bag?"

"I was working on them while I was waiting for you to come back with Jarod." He looked up in time to see the shadow cross her face. Immediately, the young man stood and, keeping the chair between them, added quickly, "I did think you'd mind. I saw them spread out over the desk so I started looking at them. I did it mostly just to pass the time but it kept me worrying about where you and Jarod were. Going through them was like trying to put a giant puzzle together."

Miss Parker hesitated, her arms folding across her chest as she stared down her nose at him.

"When Dad called and said he was coming to get me, I put them in my bag. I didn't know when you would be back and I wanted to keep working. I didn't think you'd mind," he repeated. Once again, the woman refused to react to his words. Saddened, Adam sighed. "When Lyle showed up, I knew you wouldn't want him to know about the files. I stashed the bag under the sofa. Dad saw me and took the bag when he left."

With one eyebrow arched higher than the other, she continued her silent interrogation until the boy finished miserably, "Dad only knew that the bag was mine, Miss Parker. He had no idea that I'd taken anything that belonged to you."

Despite the fact she was curious about what he and Debbie had discovered Miss Parker was unwilling to let the boy off the hook. She let the silence hang between them for a few more seconds. When she spoke, she purposely adopted a tone of disappointment, knowing it would be the most effective tool to drive her point home – her property was off limits.

"This isn't over, Adam. We'll talk about the files and why you decided to help yourself to them, later," she warned. Satisfied when he nodded guiltily, she faced Debbie. "Right now, I just want to know where your father and Sydney are."

The girl glanced at Adam then motioned toward the door. "Um - they're inside. Sydney asked Dad to clean up one of the recordings you took from Dr. Kelly."

"Tell them to come out here. I have something to tell you all and I don't have time to repeat myself."

"Is it about Jarod? Did something happen at his arraignment?" the girl asked. When the woman narrowed her eyes and straightened her stance, Debbie nodded and turned away. "I'll go get them."

* * *

The anxiousness he was feeling was so intense, so filled with dread that Jarod could not sit still for more than a minute at a time. His mind was rushing through so many disconnected images so quickly, they were blurred. Nothing, not even the locations or sounds were identifiable. With his palms pressed against his temples and his fingers tightening around locks of his own hair, the Pretender paced the small room. On his fourth pass of the table, the door opened and, though he came to a sudden halt, Jarod did not face the new arrival.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded, though he was not sure of the fact. Realizing his hands, now at his side, were trembling, Jarod brought his arms across his chest. "I've got a bump on the back of my head, but I'll survive."

"The bump on the back of your head is the least of your problems. Do you want to tell me what happened in there?"

The Pretender shook his head slightly and, with his arms still crossed, lowered himself to the wooden chair. "I would, if I could, Detective."

Ryan filled his lungs slowly then released the breath abruptly. "You are making it increasingly difficult for me to help you, Jarod."

"Why do you want to?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Why are you so interested in what happens to me?"

"I've been asking myself that same question since the day I arrested you," he growled. "Just when I think I've figured you out, you go and do something like this. What the hell were you thinking acting out like that in a court of law? You could have gotten yourself killed."

Jarod considered his words for only a moment before he asked quietly, "Did I hurt anyone?"

"No. You were the only injury." Moving to Jarod's side of the table, he forced a calmer tone as he added, "But you're lucky that the judge hasn't done more than refuse your bail. You could very well be charged with assault, ordered you to be kept in heavy restraints whenever you're in the courtroom, or transferred to the psych ward for an evaluation."

"Maybe I should," Jarod admitted. Slowly meeting the man's gaze, he asked, "Exactly, what did I do?"

The despondency in the other man's voice startled Ryan. "Are you serious?"

"I would never joke about something so important, Detective. Please. What did I do?"

* * *

"Define 'berserk', Miss Parker. What you're telling us does not sound anything like my son."

Turning toward the older woman, Miss Parker kept a calm voice as she repeated, "The moment the judge denied bail and ordered him to submit DNA samples to be tested in connection with the murders, Jarod lost control. He managed to push over the podium he was standing behind, break a lamp, toss a chair over the banister and yell some very convincing threats at his attorney before the guards knocked him out."

"Is he all right?"

"They told me he was conscious, when I left. He's fine."

"Are you sure? Did you see him?"

Shifting her gaze from Margaret to Emily, she nodded. "I didn't need to see him. Jarod has one of the hardest heads you'll ever find. Don't worry."

"Where is he now?" Margaret asked.

"He's in a holding cell at the courthouse until he can be transferred to the State prison. He'll stay there until his trial."

"He's alone?"

"No," she shook her head at Adam and forced a reassuring smiled. "Detective Stratford said he would stay with him until he was transferred."

"It just doesn't sound like Jarod," Margaret repeated softly. "We had to restrain him when he was recovering from the drugs and Lyle's torture last year – but it was just preventative, so he didn't hurt himself. I have never seen him get violent."

"Neither have I," Sydney agreed.

"Miss Parker, there has to be some reason for this breakdown."

"Actually, there are two reasons, Major – Philip Kelly and Lyle."

"You think they . . . programmed him to do this?"

"Before Jarod was taken to the court house, he met with his attorney – Cara DeWitt – and Philip Kelly. My guess is that, at some point, he was alone with Kelly and the walking corpse gave Jarod the command so he would be denied bail," she replied tightly.

"How does it benefit Kelly or Lyle to have Jarod in prison?" the Major pressed. "If they want him to do their bidding, he has to be free."

"I don't know, but I'm working on it," she promised. Looking to her right, she said, "Broots, find me everything you can about this lawyer. All I know is that she's young – I don't think she's even thirty – and that she flew in from Denver this morning."

"I'm on it," Broots answered. "Um, do you want me to start searching for all reference to Jarod on the internet, or just pull the pictures and articles from the major networks for now?"

Miss Parker's expression hardened as she made eye contact with the technician. "What are you talking about?"

Glancing nervously at Sydney, the balding man moved to the laptop Adam and Debbie had been using and expertly tapped in the web address of a major news carrier. When the screen filled, he backed away, giving the brunette and Jarod's parents a clear view of a photo and four-paragraph article.

"When was this posted?" the Major demanded.

"Within the last thirty minutes. There are about half a dozen more, just like it."

"Can they do this?" Margaret asked, looking up from the screen. "Can they print whatever they want, without talking to anyone?"

"There's not one inaccurate thing about this piece except that it makes him sound like he's certifiable," Miss Parker complained. "Damn it! In about an hour, everyone with a computer is going to believe that Jarod is a serial killer. In two hours, his picture is going to be all over the television and the media is going to start digging into his non-existent past. They're going to crucify him."

"But Jarod is very good at building a personal history," Adam pointed out. "I'm sure there are no holes. They won't find anything condemning."

"No, but they may find inconsistencies," Sydney interjected solemnly. "When they start to going through the list of references, organizations and institutions that are on record as being part of Jarod's life, they will find it difficult to find anyone who remembers him. The absence of human testimonials may make them present a sinister picture of Jarod to the public."

"What if we fix it?" Emily offered, glancing between Broots, Debbie and Adam. "We can pull Jarod's history and, well, rework it so it's not 100 fictional. You know, we can build in some of the actual places he lived and worked during pretends. At least then, if the press . . ."

"Do it. In the meantime, we have to warn Jarod." Moving away from the laptop, Miss Parker rubbed her temples then turned to face her small audience. "From the moment he escaped, he has done little else but help other people. He deserves better than to wake up tomorrow and find he's been exploited again."

"Jarod knows how the real world works, Parker. He knows . . ."

"Yes, Syd, he knows exactly how the real world works but that doesn't mean we should let him get blindsided. At this moment, he thinks his only enemies are Kelly and Lyle. He has no clue that the press and public opinion have already joined the Centre's party to destroy him."

"Oh, my God, she's right," Margaret whispered. "The moment the Centre sees that article and picture, they will know Jarod is alive. They'll come after him."

"They may not have to come very far," Broots muttered to himself.

"What do you mean?"

Startled, the technician glanced from face to face, hoping someone would answer for him. Annoyed by his hesitation and helpless expression, Miss Parker stepped between Broots and Margaret as she headed for the screen door.

"What the moron is trying not to tell you is that there is a good chance the Centre has already dispatched operatives to Southern California." She heard the irritation in her voice but, couldn't explain it since, suddenly, the emotion that seemed to be washing over her was fear. "I don't want to think about how many of them may actually be inside the prison."

"Maybe that's why Lyle and Kelly sent him there," the Major growled. "They want my son to feel alone and desperate. They want to . . . Where are you going?"

Pulling the door open as a breeze from the courtyard pushed the loose strands of hair from her face, she glanced over her shoulder. "I'm going to warn Jarod. If he's already been transferred, I'll go to the prison. He needs to know what's happening. He needs to be prepared for anything." Then, in a softer voice, she added, "He needs to know he's not fighting this alone."

"We'll go with you," Margaret offered. "Maybe seeing his family will . . ."

"Don't even think about it." Looking from Margaret to Major Charles, she let her gaze fall on Adam and Emily. "The most important thing to Jarod, right now, is your safety. If something happened to you, he would give up entirely. The Centre may know where he is, but they can't say the same about you. Let's not change that fact, okay? Do whatever you feel is necessary to beef up Jarod's past, but do not leave a trail. Stay put and, above all, don't get stupid."

Then, without giving them a chance to debate her orders, Miss Parker hurried from the bungalow.

* * *

Jarod listened silently as the Detective described his outburst in court. His head was down, his eyes hidden in the palms of his hands with his knuckles pressed against his forehead. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find the memory that matched what he was being told.

"Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

The concern in the man's voice made Jarod raise his head. He attempted a reassuring smile but found it felt too much like a lie. He had lied enough.

"The last thing I remember is being at the police station with Miss DeWitt . . . and Philip."

Ryan heard Jarod's voice darken as he spoke the doctor's name but was more concerned with the memory loss. If what he was saying was true – if he was prone to blackouts - it could change everything in regards to the murder investigations.

"Jarod, do you want me to call someone for you? Your attorney is still in with the judge but Philip Kelly is outside. He's been demanding . . ."

"No." The one word interruption was spoken so quickly and with such a mix of panic and anger that even Jarod was surprised when it escaped his lips. He saw the shock and curiosity cross Ryan's face and, immediately, rose from the chair. "I don't need to see him."

"All right," he promised. "You don't have to see him, if you don't want to."

Jarod cringed. He recognized the man's tone as one that was reserved for the mentally unstable. He was being patronized but, as much as he hated it, he bit back the instinct to demand a change. After all, he wasn't sure it wasn't warranted.

"Tell me about Cara DeWitt," he said softly. "Philip hired her and he hasn't told me anything. What do you know about her?"

"Not much. I know she's from Denver and flew in this morning. I think she mentioned graduating from Northwestern."

"Does she have ties anywhere else, beside Denver and Chicago? What about Atlanta?"

"Why would I know that?" Ryan frowned. "More importantly, why do you care?"

Jarod shrugged and faced the man. "I'm just curious."

"Is that so? You are a smart man, Jarod but you seem to have either forgotten what I do for a living or you have a very low regard for my abilities. Considering all that has happened do you really expect me to ignore being pumped for information?" he dared. "You just threatened the woman in open court – accused her of purposely betraying your trust. For all I know, you're hatching a way to get even with her and trying to use me to do it."

"I'm not planning any kind of revenge," Jarod growled. "And, for the record, regardless of what you may have heard me say in there, I do not blame Miss DeWitt for my circumstances. There was never any doubt in my mind that the judge would deny bail."

"Then why the show? If you knew you wouldn't be released, why did you . . ."

"If I knew why I did what I did, Detective, I would tell you!"

Though he believed Jarod's claim, Ryan refused to admit it aloud. Since the moment they met, he'd been giving the man the benefit of the doubt, without cause, and it had gotten him nowhere. He was tired of spinning his wheels. It was time to make a change.

"Then tell me why you're so interested in the woman who is, right now, sitting in the judge's chambers making excuses for you."

"She's my lawyer."

"And whether she comes from Denver, Chicago or Atlanta matters how?"

Jarod rubbed his forehead and shook his head.

"Tell me the truth, Jarod."

"If you must know, I knew a Dr. _Cynthia _DeWitt, once," he murmured in resignation. "I just wondered if there was a relation."

"Was this doctor a friend?"

Jarod released a low chuckle and shook his head. "Hardly. Let's just say she was a business acquaintance."

"And she was from Atlanta."

"Yes."

"So, your interest in Cara is only because of this woman you once had a business acquaintance with?"

Jarod nodded his answer and Ryan made a mental note to check both Cara and Cynthia DeWitt. He then waited silently, for almost five more minutes, in hopes that Jarod would share something else he could use. Unfortunately, Jarod seemed content to dole out the pieces of the puzzle that surrounded him in very small increments.

"The medical technicians are going to be here to take your DNA very soon, Jarod," Ryan said, finally breaking the unproductive silence. "As soon as they're done, you're going to be transferred to the State Penitentiary – over an hour away. If there is something you want to tell me, you need to do it now."

"Have you spoken with the hospital?"

Shaking his head, Ryan folded his arms over his chest. "No, but at this point it really wouldn't change your situation. Even if Jillian Kincade corroborates your story about what happened at the beach house, you're not going anywhere until the DNA tests are returned. The District Attorney is looking at you for the murders of Claire James, Rose Barber, Jennifer Forrest and Susan Pearce."

"I realize that, Detective," he said, looking at the man. "I was asking because I was concerned for her, not for me."

Jarod's sincerity caused Ryan to hesitate and, then, soften his tone. "I'll stop by the hospital on my way back to the station."

"Thank you."

"In the meantime, is there something about the murders you want to tell me, Jarod?"

"I know you want to help, Detective and I appreciate everything you've done."

"But you want me to butt out."

"This situation is much more complicated than you can imagine," Jarod warned. "I literally can't tell you what's been happening. I can't tell you why I'm here, or what happened at the beach house, or in that hotel room."

"Not even if I ask nicely?"

Jarod sighed at the man's sarcasm and lowered himself to the chair.

"Have you had blackouts like this before?"

Jarod shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Could they be the result of drugs or alcohol?"

Again, the Pretender shook his head. "If they are, I do not recall taking them."

Ryan frowned. "Have you ever been arrested, Jarod?"

Jarod looked at him. "I am sure you ran a background check on me, Detective. You should already know the answer to that question."

"Humor me."

"No," he said, slowly averting his gaze. "I have never been arrested."

"Have you ever been a suspect?"

Bringing his gaze back on the man, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The less the Detective knew about Kristy Kincade and her husband's murder, the better but, at this point, he didn't know how much the man already knew.

"What did my file say?"

Ryan smiled sadly and shook his head. "You still don't get it, do you? I'm trying to help you, Jarod."

In the seconds that passed, he thought about his options. He thought about what his imprisonment would mean to his family, as well as his own mind. He thought about the threats made by Philip and Lyle. He thought about every argument Parker gave him during her visit.

"If you honestly want to help me, you need to contact the woman who visited me earlier - the woman who told you she was my sister."

Ryan sat back in his seat and stared at the man, one eyebrow raised in mock annoyance. "You mean Miss Parker _isn't_ your sister? I'm shocked."

The man's reaction was so unexpected, and filled with such a completely different attitude, Jarod was caught off guard. His grin was quick but it was wide and filled with more amusement than he had felt in days.

Glancing at his watch, Ryan sighed and leaned forward. As much as he honestly enjoyed seeing Jarod relax, even for a moment, they were coming down to the wire. He'd gotten more information out of Jarod in the last twenty minutes than he had since the arrest and Ryan was not about to let it end.

Adopting a much somber tone, he pressed, "Why should I contact Miss Parker? I have had conversations with her already and, frankly, she stonewalled me at every turn. Exactly what am I supposed to ask her?"

"Don't _ask_ her anything," he replied, his tone mirroring Ryan's. "Tell her to show you the recordings. Tell her that I want you to watch them."

"And, exactly what are on these recordings?"

"You wouldn't believe me, even if I could tell you."

"Try me."

Jarod opened his mouth to speak but, before he could comment, the door opened. His eyes widened as the technician moved into the room with Philip Kelly trailing closely behind. Without realizing he did so, Jarod stood and stepped away from the table.

Philip glanced from the Pretender to the Detective and then back again. "Jarod, it's all right. They're just here for a sample of your DNA."

Rising from his seat, Ryan looked at Jarod long enough to find the sickly sweet tone of the doctor had garnered a reaction. The man's jaw was clenched tightly and his hands were balled into fists at his side. It was the first time he could remember seeing any sign of fight in Jarod.

"There is no sense in trying to fight the warrant, Jarod. I have already read it. The District Attorney is only asking for blood, saliva and hair samples. Please, sit down and roll up your sleeve, Jarod, so these gentlemen can begin."

Ryan watched, his confusion mounting as the dark man nodded and hesitantly obeyed the command.

"This is for your own good, Jarod," Philip continued. "I promise that no one will hurt you, as long as you cooperate. You will cooperate, won't you, Jarod?"

"Yes, Doctor."

The Pretender's voice was soft and, as he spoke, his gaze dropped submissively. But, in the split second before, when his eyes shifted uneasily toward Ryan, the Detective had seen all he had needed to see. There were powerful emotions bubbling just behind the brown orbs – and they were all directed toward Philip Kelly.

"This room is getting a bit crowded. The Doc and I will be in the hall, if you need us," he announced, to no one in particular. Then, before Philip Kelly could utter a word, Ryan slid his arm around the man's shoulders. Forcefully, but with a smile on his face, he ushered Philip out of the room.

* * *

"Let go of me!"

Ryan smiled and tightened his hold on the man's shoulder briefly before releasing the man. Making a point of avoiding physical contact, he motioned toward the bench across the hall as he stepped between Philip and the door leading to Jarod's cell. "Take a seat, Doc."

"I have every right to be in that room."

"Actually, you don't. The only people authorized to be with Jarod right now are the medical technicians and his lawyer. Since Miss DeWitt is still with the judge . . ." He shrugged his shoulders, let his voice fade and smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"He's my patient."

"He's providing evidence that may, or may not, be used in a murder investigation," Ryan insisted, using a more forceful tone. "As soon as he's done, the judge has ordered him to be transferred. Since the bus is here, and waiting for him, I doubt there will be any time for you to visit."

Philip scowled at the man, his eyes narrowing as he darted over Ryan's shoulder at the closed door. "Jarod had a traumatic experience in that court room. He is in a very fragile state. I need to . . ."

"He looked fine to me," the Detective sighed, adding strongly, "And, I didn't hear him protest when I escorted you out of the room."

"You never gave him the chance," the man argued. "If you go in there, right now, and ask him if he wants to see me, I guarantee he will reply in the affirmative."

"That's a shame, because I'm not going to do ask him. If you want to see Jarod today, and feel strongly that he's willing to see you, then I suggest you get in your car and head over the State Prison. Of course, it's over an hour away and I have no idea how much longer Jarod's tests are going to take. By the time he arrives and is processed, visiting hours may be over." He shrugged and offered another smile. "It's your choice, though."

"You can't do this."

"I don't suppose you would like to bet on that, would you?"

For a moment, Philip's eyes seemed to glow with anger. He moved toward the detective, intent on pushing past him, only to have Ryan block his path. When he made a second attempt, the grin on the younger, more physically fit man faded. Keeping his arms folded and his eyes hard, he stared at the doctor until he backed away.

Frustrated, Philip raised a pointed finger, as if he were about to begin another tirade but before he could speak, Ryan nodded toward the man's jacket pocket. "Your cell phone is ringing."

"Excuse me?"

"Your phone is ringing." Raising his voice as if he were talking to one with a hearing problem, he repeated, "Your –phone - is - ringing."

Without a word, the doctor reached into his pocket and retrieved the offending object. Turning away from the Detective, he brought it to his ear. "Kelly."

"It appears that you finally did something right, Doctor. The report of Jarod's outburst is all over the internet. In another few hours, he will be the lead story on every syndicated news program in the country."

"Yes," he sighed. Shooting a glance over his shoulder at the guarded door, Philip moved further down the hall. "Everything went as planned, including your prediction that the judge would order the DNA tests."

"Don't sound so surprised; you will find that I am right quite often. Why do you sound so annoyed?" he asked. "In case you missed it, this is the way I wanted things to turn out."

"I realize that, Lyle," he hissed. "I realize that we are one step closer to locking Jarod away from the real world. Tell me, again, what kind of satisfaction you get out of doing this. How is having him in prison, surrounded by some of the most violent criminals in the state, better than isolating him on your ship where I can have constant access?"

Lyle did not respond immediately. In the few seconds of heavy silence that fell between them, Philip felt his frustration begin to give way to fear. He knew Lyle well enough to know the man did not like to be challenged and he knew that the work he was doing with Jarod was no longer enough reason for the man to keep him alive.

"I have already explained this to you." Though there was no noticeable malice in his voice, Philip did not kid himself into thinking Lyle was forgiving the demand for information. "Jarod is very close to his breaking point; however, considering the fact he refuses to kill on command, he is not close enough. He spent the first thirty-odd years of his life locked away at the Centre. He was coddled. He was treated like a Sacred Cow. It is time he learned what life behind bars is really like."

"Why take the time to do it this way? In his altered state, I can convince him . . ."

"It has to be real. I want him broken. I want him to lose everything. I want him to feel the same despondency and desperation I felt while in Africa."

"Jarod's mind is a powerful tool. It has capabilities you cannot fathom. If we go about this the right way -by isolating him and continuing to work on his memories, his subconscious will give in. You will see him react exactly the way you want – he will become despondent, desperate, and go through the seven stages of grief. And, in the end, he will become exactly what you want him to be. I guarantee that he will do anything you want without question."

"You have been making that guarantee for over a year now. Why should I believe you now?"

"Jarod has been making progress. Even you cannot deny that fact," Philip pointed out. Excited by the notion he had convinced the other man, he said, "I have not been allowed time with Jarod since the incident in the courtroom. At the rate things are going, I may not be able to have another session with him until tomorrow. Make some calls. Let me see him tonight. Arrange for me to have a private, lengthy session with him and I promise you will see results."

Lyle thought about the request for a few moments, then shook his head. "His next set of orders can wait until tomorrow."

"You do not understand."

"Oh, but I do," Lyle countered. "You had your heart set on some one on one time with the lab rat. You wanted your face to be the last familiar one he saw before he was locked away. You want to coddle him the same way Sydney coddled him at the Centre."

"I want the same things you want."

"No, I don't think you do. Tucking Jarod in for the night, and reading him a bedtime story, is not integral to my plan. You can see him tomorrow."

Angrily, Philip snapped the phone closed and moved toward the main doors of the courthouse. As much as he would have enjoyed contradicting Lyle, it would have been counter-productive and, possibly, dangerous.

Pushing through the doors, he took the shallow marble steps in rapid succession until he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Unsure of his next move, he lowered himself to the edge of a stone planter and took a deep breath.

The man was only partially right about his motives for seeing Jarod. It was true that he hoped to have some precious one on one time with the Pretender but for various reasons. Yes, he wanted his face to be the last face Jarod saw before being interred; but it had more to do with keeping control over the man by altering his memories than coddling him. The few minutes he'd had with him at the police station, prior to Jarod being escorted to the court house, had not been nearly enough time. There were specific memories – true memories – he wanted to manipulate and he had not been able to do so. As it stood, he was not sure that the two memories he had altered into nightmares would be enough to alienate Jarod from his family.

More importantly, though, he needed Jarod to tell him about the recordings. In their earlier meeting that day, while he was in the process of modifying a memory of Jarod and his sister, the man had mentioned Miss Parker. When questioned why he had made the connection between the brunette and Emily, Jarod admitted to visiting with the woman.

"_Is she still here? Is Miss Parker in the police station, Jarod?"_

_The Pretender nodded. _

_Nervous at the prospect of running into the woman, he asked, "Why was she here, Jarod?"_

_Jarod hesitated. _

"_Tell me, what she told you," he ordered, his anxiousness suddenly growing._

"_She told me about the recordings."_

Before he could pluck any more information from Jarod's mind, though, he was interrupted by the guards advising it was time to leave for the courthouse. Reluctantly, he'd released Jarod from his control and, since then, had been desperate for another meeting.

Though his written notes regarding the project, as well as some audio tapes of the sessions, were safely hidden, he needed to recover the videos stolen from the cabin. So far, he had been able to keep Lyle in the dark regarding the stolen the recordings but he knew he couldn't keep it up much longer. If he didn't get them back soon – before Lyle realized they were missing, or before Miss Parker could use them against him – his life would be over.

Jarod was the key. Since Miss Parker had told the Pretender about them, then Philip was sure she had told him where they were being kept. In an altered state, it would take less than half an hour to coerce Jarod into giving up the information.

The echoing sound of walkie-talkies brought his attention back to the courthouse as the Pretender was escorted from the building. Despite being flanked by armed guards on both sides, his arms cuffed in front of him and tethered to a leather belt, the dark man seemed strangely at ease. Before the doctor could consider Jarod's demeanor for too long, Ryan Stratford stepped from the building, his cell phone to his ear. He nodded twice, in response to his conversation then disconnected the call and glanced around the area, as if verifying it was secure.

Deciding that another attempt to talk with Jarod today would be futile; Philip pushed away from the planter and started toward the adjoining parking garage. He had taken no more than three steps when a black Porsche convertible came to a screeching halt at the curb in front of the courthouse. The driver, oblivious to anyone else's presence, seemed to jump from the vehicle before it was completely stopped and darted toward the bus waiting to transport Jarod.

"Wait!"

Turning toward the voice, Jarod came to a sudden halt. "Parker, what are you doing here?"

"Keep moving," the guard ordered, pushing the Pretender forward.

"No. Wait. I just need a minute," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the brunette. "Something is wrong. Parker, what happened? Is my family . . .?"

"Keep moving!"

Stumbling over the steps of the bus, Jarod looked up at the man. "Please. I just need a minute."

"Well, you're not getting it now. Move!"

Still only steps from the planter, Philip watched the drama unfold. Jarod was unceremoniously lifted into the State vehicle, and the doors closed, while Ryan Stratford grabbed the woman's arm, bringing Miss Parker to an abrupt stop no more than ten yards from the entrance. She shrugged out of his hold, releasing a breathy curse as she moved back to her Porsche, her eyes still trained on the retreating bus.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" he murmured as he walked past the couple. "I suppose, like myself, you will have to wait until tomorrow to talk to him. Which means Jarod is going to spend the next twelve to eighteen hours wondering what you had to say, and how important it might be."

"Get the hell out of here, Kelly," Ryan spat, "or, so help me, I will arrest you for being a public nuisance."

Nodding genially, and feeling much calmer than he had moments before, Philip continued toward the parking garage.

* * *

"Have you lost your mind? You're lucky you weren't arrested, or shot, for trying to interfere with a prisoner transfer."

"Do I look like I'm afraid of being shot? I need to talk to Jarod," she snapped. Pulling away from him, she crossed to her car and yanked on the driver's side door. "Are you coming?"

"Are you actually going to the prison?"

"Damn right I am," she growled, sliding behind the wheel. "You don't know me very well, Detective, but there are a few things you need to understand. First, Jarod and I have a long history. We may not always get along but I would never leave him hanging, wondering what I was trying to tell him."

"It's after four. The prison is over an hour away, visiting hours end at six. They won't let you see him until he's been processed. You may not get there in time."

Ignoring him, she started the engine. "I'll get to Jarod in time."

Pulling the door closed, Ryan slid into the passenger seat and looked at her. "How can you be so sure?"

A wide, toothy grin flashed across her face as she threw the car into gear. As the tires screeched their departure from the curb, she said, "Fasten your seat belt."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P


	25. Chapter 25

Note: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. Real life, once again, demanded attention. Hope this LONNGGG chapter makes up for it. Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II – Retribution

By imagine

Chapter 25/?

Jarod leaned back and stared out the window, his head resting lethargically against the thin cushion of the bench seat. He could not remember a time when he felt so tired. The blackouts, nightmares and the constant fear were taking their toll. Worse, though, were the moments he was unable to identify as being real or a simulation out of control.

"_Look at me," she insisted, her eyes darting toward the window as he followed her directive. "I know he's confused you but I can help. All you have to do is concentrate. We were together a few hours ago. You told me to trust you – to trust __**us**__. I just need you to do the same."_

He rubbed his temples as the memory began to fade, unable to decide when – or if- she had spoken the words. All he knew was that they _felt _real and he was clinging to that feeling with more energy than he would have ever believed a week ago. Since leaving the courthouse, he had been unable to concentrate on little else than Parker and realized that, though he wasn't sure when it had happened, at some point, he had begun trusting her again.

"_No. Wait. I just need a minute," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the brunette. "Something is wrong. Parker, what happened? Is my family . . .?"_

"_Keep moving!" _

His mind had come up with a dozen possible reasons for her sudden appearance at the court house. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure there had been a sense of urgency in her voice when she called out to him. Despite his quiet attempts to convince himself that he was imagining things, his anxiousness was growing at an alarming rate. If Lyle, or Philip, or the Centre had done something to his family as a means of gaining more control over him . . .

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and, for what seemed like the hundredth time, told himself, "Whatever the problem, Parker can handle it."

He waited until the panic began to wane then tiredly rocked his head to the left. Without raising it from the back of the seat, he stared out the window. The sun was hovering just above the horizon, its path of light slicing across the delicate white foam of the waves, to the shore. Trees were bowing slightly to the increased velocity of the breeze and weekend fishermen were packing their supplies on the long wooden and cement pier that extended from the beach.

"What are you staring at?"

Jarod glanced at the reflection of the young man sitting in the seat across from his. "Everything."

"Trying to memorize it?"

"Something like that." Turning away from the window, the Pretender sat up straight in his seat and quietly introduced himself. "My name is Jarod."

The young man nodded and glanced toward the front of the bus. "I'm Kyle."

Jarod flinched at the sound of the name. Memories he had thought could no longer hurt him - images of his brother's face and the sounds of his voice, as he drew his last breath - were suddenly as vivid as they had been that night.

Jarod dropped his gaze before the other man could read the confusion he was sure had settled on his face; but his body's reaction to the name bothered him. It had been years since his brother was killed. One of the most painful times of his life, he had believed he'd come to terms with it – until now.

"Hey, you don't look too good all of a sudden. Should I get a guard?"

Inhaling deeply, he slowly brought his gaze back to the younger man. The Kyle sitting across from him was blond with vivid green eyes and a full beard that hid most of his features. The only commonality between this man and his brother was their height and weight. Both had a physique that was deceivingly trim and muscular.

"Should I call for a guard?" he repeated.

Jarod forced a smile and shook his head. The only explanation for his reaction was stress, lack of sleep and the unsettling feeling of paranoia that was becoming all too common. "There's no need - I'm fine. It is very nice to meet you, Kyle."

Kyle shot him a look that conveyed his skepticism but, thankfully, did not push the issue. Instead, he glanced at the guards. When it appeared their conversation had not drifted to the front of the bus, he asked, "Was that woman at the courthouse your girlfriend?"

Jarod replied with a soft chuckle. "No, not the way you mean anyway. She is just a good friend."

"Trust me, Jarod. There's nothing 'just' about a good friend."

The Pretender nodded in agreement as he let his gaze slide back toward the window.

"She seemed very intent on talking to you. Any idea what she wanted to say?"

Jarod shrugged and, rather than share the dark thoughts that were going through his head, replied. "She and my family have been working on proving my innocence. She may have wanted to tell me about something they found."

"Your family is in the picture?"

The young man's surprised tone caused Jarod to glance at him over his shoulder. "Yes, of course they are."

"And they believe you're innocent?"

Jarod's brows furrowed. "Yes."

Kyle sat back in his seat and stared at the guards. "You are a very lucky man."

Before the Pretender could respond, he was distracted by a movement caught from the corner of his eye. Drawing his gaze away from Kyle, he found a familiar Porsche traveling beside the bus. As if she felt the weight of his stare, Miss Parker looked up from the road and smiled at him. A second later, she shifted gears on the vehicle and, with a sudden spurt of speed, the Porsche moved ahead of the bus.

He pressed his forehead to the pane, watching the car until it disappeared from view. Without facing the young man, Jarod answered, "I am realizing that fact more every day."

* * *

"Slow down!"

"Don't wet your pants, Nancy," she snapped, "I know what I'm doing."

"And, what is that, exactly?" he demanded as she rode the shoulder of the expressway long enough to pass a black Ford Mustang. "Are you trying to get us killed, or just trying to break the sound barrier?"

She shot him a withering glare, but said nothing. An instant after bringing her attention back on the road, Miss Parker swerved from the left lane into the center lane, narrowly avoiding the Chevy Malibu that had inconveniently, and unwisely, appeared in her path. Just as quickly, she was back in the left lane. Ryan released a breathless, albeit involuntary scream and grabbed the dashboard.

"Oh, please," she sighed, "I didn't even come close to hitting him. Stop overreacting."

"Look, you got what you wanted," he pointed out, though his eyes never left the road. "We're ahead of the bus. We'll arrive at the prison in time to meet with Jarod before lockdown."

She glanced in the rear view mirror, as if confirming the fact she was still ahead of the prison transport.

"If you don't get that foot off the gas pedal," he warned, leaning over far enough to glance at the speedometer, "you're going to get pulled over. If you get pulled over, I can guarantee that you will not see Jarod for _at least_ another twenty-four to forty-eight hours because Los Angeles County will provide you with your own semi-private jail cell."

"You're a cop. Don't you guys have professional courtesy or something?" she dared. "If I get pulled over, you show him your badge and tell him it's an emergency."

Again, she slid onto the shoulder, this time to get ahead of a Pontiac Grand Am. He ground his teeth and grabbed the dashboard as the back wheels spun for traction and the rear of the Porsche fishtailed to the left. Before he could make a sound, however, the brunette had control of the car and was moving it back onto the highway.

"So help me, Miss Parker," he hissed, "if you get pulled over, I'll show my badge and tell them to throw the book at you. In fact, I will offer to testify against you. I don't really give a rat's ass if you get to see Jarod tonight, or not. Now get your damned foot off the gas pedal!"

Miss Parker gripped the steering wheel tighter, and her expression seemed to harden but, slowly, she complied with is demand. His eyes darted between her face and the speedometer. When the needle dropped closer to the legal speed limit, Ryan took a deep breath and sat back in his seat.

"Thank you," he muttered. "Now, do you want to tell me why the rush to see Jarod? Why can't you see him tomorrow morning?"

"The media got wind of the story," she told him. "His face is all over the internet. By the time his bus pulls into the prison parking lot, every major news station in North America will have shown his picture."

"So?"

She glared at him. "So, he needs to know that they're gearing up to crucify him."

"Jarod seems like an exceptionally intelligent man. He's been connected to a very high-profile case; I'm sure he knows how the media operates."

"Of course he does. He also knows how a truck operates but, knowing how to build an engine and having the big rig roll over you are two different things," she snapped, her foot slowly increasing pressure on the gas pedal. "I'm trying to prevent Jarod from getting flattened."

"And, in order to do this, you have to visit him tonight," he replied with a smirk. Shaking his head, he studied her profile. "For the record, I don't believe you, Miss Parker."

The brunette said nothing but kept her eyes on the road. The last thing she wanted was to get into a discussion that might lead to her real reason for visiting Jarod. With his photo being broadcast over every computer and television in the nation, the Centre would make an appearance very soon.

"We're going to be at the prison in thirty . . ." he glanced at the speedometer then shook his head as the needle began moving toward the higher numbers. "Make that twenty minutes. I would much rather we spend that time talking about the recordings Jarod wants you to show me."

* * *

"Adam, come inside. It's time for dinner."

Showing no sign that he heard the words, the young man scribbled something on the pad of paper beside him then looked back at the laptop's monitor. She watched quietly from the door as he tapped a new command into the computer. He leaned forward, his finger moving slowly across the screen as he concentrated on the results of his inquiry.

"I'm not hungry," he told her, once again picking up the pencil to jot down a note. "I'll eat later."

"You haven't eaten all day."

He sighed, but instead of turning to face her, Adam continued his work. With a quick tap on the keyboard, the spreadsheet he was studying shifted downward. "I had an apple and some yogurt this morning."

"That was fourteen hours ago," she pointed out. "Since then, all you've had is water. I know you're anxious to make sense of the files but you have to eat."

"I'll eat later," he repeated absently, adding softly, "as soon as I'm done."

She stared at him a moment longer, unsure, until the squeak of the screen door sounded behind her. Turning, she watched as Emily stepped on to the porch.

"He said he's not hungry," she complained, approaching the woman.

"Okay, go inside, Debbie," Emily replied, her eyes still on her brother. "Let me talk to him for a few minutes."

Though he kept working, kept scribbling notes and manipulating the small bits of data he had in the file, Adam heard every word exchanged between the two. He said nothing, even after his sister moved beside him and bravely brought the monitor of the laptop to its keyboard.

He calmly lifted it into place and continued typing. "Leave it alone."

Ignoring his command, she closed the monitor a second time. "You've been at this all day. Take a break, Little Brother."

"Not yet. I'm close, Em. I know I am. I just need a little more time."

Emily's expression softened at the sound of his words. He was pleading with her but, despite the urge to give in to him, she shook her head. "We can work on it later. It's time to think about something else for a little while."

"No. I have to do this."

"Adam, look at me," she murmured. Taking both his hands in hers, as he reached for the computer, she squeezed them until he obeyed the request. "I am not asking you to stop searching for answers. I want Jarod free, as much as you do. All I want is for you to take a break and have something to eat."

"But, I'm so close," he insisted. Pulling out of her hold, Adam turned away from his sister and opened the lap top. "Look at the dates, Em. There is a definite pattern."

"Adam . . ."

Talking over her interruption, he kept his eyes on the spreadsheet. "Twice a month, approximately 14 and 28 days apart, shipments are sent to Atlanta, Phoenix and Denver. The deliveries are always made to a different fictitious address but they aren't simultaneous. Each location is on its own distribution cycle."

"Adam, please, just take an hour. We can . . ."

"Miss Parker's men were very thorough. They gave her every known delivery location for the last six months – but I have not been able to figure out the pattern." He pulled a short stack of papers from under the laptop. "Last month, the delivery was to a vacant lot in Denver. In Phoenix, it was a train station and, in Atlanta, the address was an empty warehouse."

Emily frowned as she looked at the documentation her brother handed to her.

"Two weeks before, the deliveries were at an abandoned church in Denver, a dilapidated playground in Phoenix, and a soup kitchen in Atlanta. The couriers said that when they arrived at the locations, someone was always there to accept delivery but, according to the files, Miss Parker's men were never able to determine the final destination."

"So, who signed for the shipments?"

Adam shrugged. "The signatures are unreadable."

"Do the addresses have anything in common?" she asked, her eyes once again drawn to the piece of paper he'd handed her. "Are they in the same neighborhoods, or in the vicinity of any kind of business or institution that might have use for the shipments?"

"It might be easier to answer that question, if I knew what was being shipped. Miss Parker was so annoyed with me for taking the files that I didn't have a chance to ask her anything about them."

She stared at her brother then tilted her head to the side as he averted his gaze. "But you have an idea."

Adam shivered as the image of Lyle standing over him filled his mind for the umpteenth time that day. While taunting him with claims that the kidnapping had been orchestrated by Jarod, as a form of retribution, Lyle had taken various DNA samples. A vial of blood, a cotton swab covered with cells and saliva from the inside of his cheek, and a clipping of hair had been carefully stored in a small cooler at the side of the bed. When Lyle left, he'd taken the cooler with him.

_Drawing his knees to his chest, Adam's eyes darted anxiously between the tools on the night table and his tormentor. "Calm down. Since this is your first time, and you've been so cooperative, I'm going to cut you some slack. We're done for now."_

_Adam's brows furrowed, but he did not loosen the hold he had on himself._

"_I don't want to run the risk of Claire walking in on us. So, I will take the additional samples tomorrow, when we're alone."_

Adam knew he'd been lucky because 'tomorrow' had never come for him. However, he didn't think he could say the same for Jarod. If he was putting the pieces together correctly, his older self had endured countless tomorrows at the mercy of Lyle. He just had no idea why Miss Parker's brother needed so many DNA samples, or what he was doing with them.

"Adam, answer me. Do you have an idea of what was being shipped?"

"Until I talk with Miss Parker, I can't be sure."

"So, you're not going to tell me."

"Not yet." With a deep breath, he reached over and took the page of data from her hands. Sliding it under the laptop, he rose from the chair. "Maybe, you're right. Maybe, it's time we all take a short break."

* * *

When the door opened, Miss Parker rose from her seat at the table. Jarod entered, his wrists bound in front of him. Flanked on either side, by guards of comparable height and weight, he smiled sadly at his visitors then let himself be guided to the chair opposite her.

"You can leave the cuffs off," Ryan said as Jarod's wrists were pulled toward the metal bar at the center of the table. The guard stared defiantly at the man crossing from the far side of the room, but acquiesced when the Detective showed his badge.

"Visiting hours end at six. We'll be back to take him to his cell in ten minutes."

"Then you'll be waiting a long time. We've been allotted a thirty minute visit." Making a point of glancing at his watch when the guard raised an eyebrow, Ryan added, "We'll see you at six twenty."

The guard said nothing until he stepped over the threshold. Looking directly at Jarod, who had his eyes trained on Miss Parker, he said, "Thirty minutes, not a second longer."

Though the Pretender did not face the man, he nodded his reply. The moment he heard the door close and the lock engage Jarod found his voice. "Parker, what happened? Is everyone all right?"

His tone was filled with a bridled panic. For a moment, the brunette felt a twinge of guilt. Lowering herself to the chair she'd occupied before his arrival, she nodded. "Your family is fine. Sydney, Broots and Debbie are fine. They're confused by your actions in court today, but they're all fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

The Pretender released a heavy breath and let a smile of relief grace his face for a few moments before it melted, once again, into worry. He glanced at Ryan. "So, why are you here?"

"Don't look at me. I just came along for the ride."

"Parker?"

Jarod's dark eyes met hers for only a second before she glared at Ryan. With a jerk of her head, she motioned toward the door. "Don't you have a phone call to make, or something?"

The Detective leaned against the wall, putting the weight on his left shoulder, and crossed his arms over his chest. "If I do, it can wait. I'm curious as to why you broke every NASCAR speed record to get here, too."

"Parker, he's okay." Placing his hand on hers, Jarod brought the woman's attention back on him before she released the verbal tirade he knew was building inside. "Just tell me what has happened."

Taking a deep breath, she glanced once more at Ryan before settling her gaze on Jarod. "By morning, _**everyone**_ in the country is going to know who – _**and where**_ - you are, Jarod. Your face is all over the internet, complete with a grainy video of your little outburst in court."

He frowned and sat back in the chair, his fingers still lightly brushing against hers.

"If you have any hope of walking out of here, you need to start worrying about that big red target on your back," she added, when he didn't respond.

"As long as the target is on **my** back, the people I care about are safe," he told her, adding with a forced smile, "Things are happening as they should."

Rising from her chair, she leaned forward and, with her hands flat on the table, brought her face within inches of his. "Get this through your thick skull, Genius: None of this _**should**_ be happening. If something happens to you, no one will be safe. Everyone who cares about you is either going to have a breakdown, be out for blood, or both."

"Nothing is going to happen to me. Lyle wants me alive," he countered. "Project Retribution, remember?"

"I don't know whether you're being just plain arrogant, or if you've gone stupid, but snap out of it, will you?" she hissed, her voice taking on a desperate tone. "This is not one of your simulations. You are not going to wake up tomorrow morning in a warm, safe bed with the sun shining on your face and frigging blue birds singing to you from the window."

"Parker . . ."

"This is real, Jarod. You are in danger of losing everything, including your life." Pushing herself to a standing position, she crossed her arms and glared at him. "Lyle doesn't give a damn about your well-being. In fact, quite the opposite, he_ wants_ you to suffer. You saw what he did to Adam. The kid has never done anything to him; so, why do you think put him through it? Because, in his mind, he was doing it to you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I understand exactly what you're saying, Parker, but I'm not sure you do," he growled. "As long as I … cooperate … Lyle has no reason to go after my family again."

"What world are you living in? The moment Adam was born, you became dispensable. He's the newer, improved model." His eyes widened at her words, but she continued at an angry pace, ignoring his reaction. "Don't look at me like that. You know I'm telling you the truth. My brother wants it all and - with you trapped in here, Adam is vulnerable on the outside. Lyle is so close to winning, I guarantee he is salivating like a hungry wild dog."

"He won't get to Adam."

"As long as you're in here . . ."

"You will be out there - protecting him," he finished. "Lyle won't get within ten feet of my brother."

The words made her hesitate then, letting her arms drop, she turned and took a step away from him.

"I trust you, Parker."

"You trust me. Well, now, isn't that just grand? You picked one heck of a time to admit it." Pivoting so that they were, once again, facing each other, Miss Parker glared at the man, her hands balling into fists at her side. "So the kid, not to mention your entire family, is now my full time responsibility?"

Raising an eyebrow, Jarod cocked his head to one side and stared at the woman for a heartbeat before the crooked smile he knew annoyed her emerged on his face. Leaning back in the chair, the Pretender folded his arms over his chest. "Do you have something better to do?"

She let out a moist laugh and shook her head, but said nothing.

When Miss Parker wiped her face with both hands and turned away, his expression morphed from taunting to serious. Slowly, his arms fell to his lap and Jarod slid forward in the chair. "I need you to do this."

"You've lost your mind." Her words were quiet but they held a decisiveness he had heard countless times over the years. "Otherwise you would know that _**I **_can't do what you're asking. I can't protect him."

"There is no question that you are the most qualified to keep Lyle and the Centre away from my family," he countered gently. "I trust you, Parker, but, more importantly, Adam and my family trust you."

"Stop saying that! If you trusted me as much as you say then take my word for it when I tell you that you're wrong." Glancing over her shoulder, she met his gaze. "And you _**are **_wrong about this, Jarod."

"Parker . . ."

"No. " She dropped her gaze and, keeping her back to him, took a few steps away. "Adam deserves better odds. You can't put his welfare in my hands."

"Parker, I don't understand." Though he remained seated, the Pretender was now sitting at the edge of his chair, one hand firmly gripping the edge of the table for support. "Why are you fighting me on this?"

"Why am I fighting you on this?" Spinning to face him, tears welled in her eyes as her voice dropped to low, broken pitch. "Why are you fighting _me_? Have you forgotten everything? Six months ago, I left your home … I left you … because I thought I could keep you safe from a distance. I was wrong. I tried to protect you and you ended up here; how could you possibly think I can protect Adam?"

Despite the heaviness of her words, they faded to almost a whisper before she turned away again. Her shoulders trembled slightly as she raised her hands to her face. In one motion, she wiped her eyes and slid her fingers through her hair, releasing a shuddered breath as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Jarod watched her for only a few seconds before he rose from his chair and moved to her side.

"You are responsible for a lot of things, Parker, but my being here is not one of them," he murmured.

Oblivious to the fact that Ryan was still in the room, Jarod gently slid his arms around the woman. Before he knew it, she was leaning against his chest. Though he was unsure if he had pulled her toward him or if she had just moved into place, Jarod tightened his hold and gently pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"You have been protecting Adam, and the rest of my family, since the moment this nightmare began. Without you, there is no telling what Lyle and Philip might have done to them – and me. I am just asking you to keep doing what you are doing a little longer."

When he felt her stir in his arms, Jarod brought his lips to her left ear and added softly, "I promise, I am not giving up. I just need your help."

His plea hung between them for a few seconds before Miss Parker reacted to the words. Still wrapped in his arms, she pulled her head back. With narrowed eyes and a soft, but semi-threatening voice, she warned, "If you let Lyle win, I will never forgive you. I will make him pay and then I will come after you."

He smiled and stroked her hair. "Don't worry. You, of all people, should know that Lyle never wins when we work together."

Ryan watched the couple closely, his curiosity building with the heat of their argument. Questions about Jarod's brother, Lyle's relationship to Miss Parker, a place called the Centre, and Jarod's reference to a project called Retribution, were screaming to be asked. But, as their words turned intimate, Ryan began to feel awkward about his presence. He filed the thoughts away for another time.

"There's something else you should know," she said. Pulling slowly out of his arms, she fought to adopt a normal tone as their physical connection began to sever. "I saw Kelly in front of the court house and got the distinct impression that he will be here first thing in the morning. He's trouble, Jarod."

"Yeah, he's definitely more than a little anxious to meet with you. The doc wasn't too pleased with the way I banned him from the holding cell at the courthouse."

Ryan noticed that his voice seemed to startle Jarod and Miss Parker. Their eyes darting from each other to him, they quickly separated as the detective pushed himself from the wall.

"I don't suppose he was," Jarod admitted, moving back to his chair. "But, thank you for keeping him away for as long as you did."

"So, you're planning on talking to him tomorrow?"

"I have to," he nodded. Then, looking at the woman, he forced a smile. "It will be all right."

Confused by the expression that flashed across Miss Parker's face as she turned away, Ryan asked, "Are these court ordered sessions?"

Though his gaze followed the woman's movements away from the table, Jarod shook his head at the question. "No."

"Then, what's the problem? If you don't want to see him, just tell the guard. You are allowed to refuse visits, you know."

"Actually, I'm not." Jarod slowly shifted his attention from Parker's retreating form to the detective. "Meeting with him ensures the safety of the people I care about."

"Funny, I thought the armed guards and the high voltage fence were in place to ensure the safety of everyone on the outside." Ryan crossed his arms as he dared, "Besides, I thought you were an innocent man. Are you telling me that you _**are **_capable of hurting someone?"

Jarod heard the sarcasm and frustration in the other man's voice but, before he could respond, Miss Parker stepped between them.

"Are you really that dense? Jarod is not the threat, you moron, Kelly is."

He hesitated then arched a brow at the woman. "A threat to who, specifically? I admit that I thought the guy was more than a little off the moment I saw him, but I thought the same thing about the two of you. In order to tip the scales one way or another, you're going to need to give me more information."

"Meeting with him ensures the safety of the people I care about," Jarod repeated. "I can't refuse his visit."

"Are you actually telling me that he's threatening your family in order to keep you as a patient?" He moved around the brunette and stared at the man. When Jarod said nothing, Ryan shook his head. "You must have one hell of a medical plan."

"If you're any indication what my taxes are being used for, I should get a huge refund this year. You're hardly worth the gas it cost to get you here."

"Parker, that's enough." Jarod's words were soft, but held a strength she hadn't heard from him in days. Turning, she stared at the Pretender as he rose from the chair. Though he continued to address her, his eyes were on Ryan. "You can't blame him for how he's putting the pieces together. He doesn't know everything."

"Then tell me," the man pressed, suddenly encouraged. When Jarod averted his gaze, Ryan threw up his arms in frustration. "Oh, that's right. You told me at the courthouse that you can't tell me anything. How could I have forgotten?"

Turning his back on the Pretender, he took two steps away then pivoted to his left, locking eyes with the woman. "I don't suppose you can fill me in either, can you?"

Her smile was thin and her words were tight, as she pulled herself to her full height, "Once again, you've jumped to the wrong conclusion. I'll answer all your questions after you've seen the recordings."

Startled, he dropped his arms to his side. "Why after?"

"Because, until you see them for yourself, Columbo, you're not going to believe a word I tell you."

* * *

She was half way down the marble staircase when she saw him standing at the base, his hand on the railing. Without breaking stride, she moved around him, repositioning her leather shoulder bag so that it hung between them.

"Doctor, what are you doing here? I thought you went home."

"Forgive me, Miss DeWitt, but I returned to talk to you." He glanced toward the top of the stairs and asked, "Your meeting with the judge lasted a very long time. Was it productive? Were you able to make him understand that Jarod . . .?"

Pushing on the heavy metal and glass door that separated her from the outside, she replied, "We've had this discussion before, Doctor. I cannot talk to you about Jarod's case. Now, why don't you just tell me why you're here?"

"I am concerned about Jarod's welfare," he said, matching her long stride.

Cara started down the shallow steps. "After his outburst in court, your concern is understandable but I am in a hurry and, I assure you, Jarod will not be able to hurt himself, or anyone else, tonight. So, unless this is urgent, I would prefer we had this conversation tomorrow."

"Actually, I was hoping you could help me get into see Jarod tonight. I have not been able to talk with him, alone, since the incident. I think it is in his best interests that I do so."

Not waiting for the light to change to green, she shot a quick glance in each direction then quickly moved across the street. "Why does it have to be tonight?"

"The sooner I meet with him, the better able I will be to find out why he reacted the way he did. The fact that he threatened you the way he did is very puzzling," he said, following the woman into the parking garage. "Don't you want to know why he did what he did?"

"Of course I do," she sighed, "but I think it's best if I speak with Jarod myself."

"Oh, so you are planning a visit to the prison?"

She frowned at the sickly sweet tone of his voice. "Of course I am. I'm his attorney."

"And, as his attorney, the standard visiting hours would not apply to you. By chance, are you planning on meeting with him tonight?"

"As a matter of fact, that is where I am headed." Cara entered the stairway and took the steps two at a time, exiting on the second floor. When she realized the man had followed her, she told him, "I think it's best if Jarod and I met alone this time."

"I see." He hesitated then, stopping beside her at the rented Celica, he adopted a fatherly tone. "I don't want to intrude on your time with Jarod, or his defense. But, considering his actions in court, I think it's best if I evaluate his emotional state before he meets with you."

"And, why is that?" she dared.

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, his gaze never straying from hers. "As I mentioned earlier, his attack on you this afternoon was very puzzling. I have no idea what set it off. I would hate for him to have another outburst and . . ."

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to frighten me away from my client – the man you hired me to defend. Is that what you're doing?"

"No, of course not," he replied hurriedly. "But, there is no denying that Jarod is a troubled man. He is my patient; I feel a sense of responsibility. I want to do what is best for him – and those around him. Believe it, or not, but I want Jarod to survive this ordeal, Miss DeWitt."

She stared at him a moment then pulled open the door of the vehicle. Sliding into the driver's seat, Cara looked up at the doctor. "I don't know what game this is, but I will play a little while longer. I'll meet you at the prison. If Jarod wants to talk to you, I will arrange it."

Nodding, he waited until she had pulled the vehicle out of its parking space before smiling to himself and heading for his own car. "Jarod will talk to me."

* * *

After his visit with Miss Parker and Detective Stratford, Jarod was handcuffed and escorted through an area lined on all sides by metal doors. A small window in each revealed the residents of his new world - murderers, kidnappers, and rapists. Some stared out at him as he passed, their expressions ranging from cruel, disturbing smiles to hard, viciously threatening glares to hopeless curiosity. For an instant, he thought he saw Kyle's face but it disappeared from view so abruptly, he couldn't be sure.

"Here you go," the guard announced, pulling Jarod to a stop. Removing the restraints, he stepped threateningly close to the man and murmured, "Welcome home."

Moving back when Jarod flinched, the guard knocked on the small window in the door and motioned for someone inside to back away. When his directive was obeyed, the guard deactivated the lock and pulled at the handle, simultaneously pushing the Pretender inside the small cell.

"Sleep tight." He closed the door, laughing at his own comment but all Jarod heard was the electric hiss of the bolt sliding into place.

"Well, what do ya know? I hit the jackpot," a rough voice said from the corner. "I'm sharing space with a celebrity. You're the guy on the news – the one they say did all those women."

The muscles in his jaw pulsated as he faced the other man, biting back the discomfort of the man's gaze. "The name is Jarod."

"Did I ask you?" the man dared. Moving away from the wall, he let his eyes travel from Jarod's face to his chest to his hips. He smiled thinly and, slowly began circling the Pretender with a predatory gleam. "You'll answer to whatever name I decide, Sweetheart. Got it?"

Though he didn't move from his spot in the middle of the cell, Jarod took a defiant stance. His arms crossed over his chest, he used a deep, dark voice when he responded, "As long as the name you decide on is 'Jarod', we have no problem."

* * *

"So, what did the two of you talk about?"

Miss Parker abruptly pushed the Porsche into the next gear and shook her head. "If we'd wanted you to know, we wouldn't have asked you to leave."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. Though her eyes remained trained on the road, he saw her hands tighten around the steering wheel. "Okay, so tell me about the things you discussed while I was in the room."

Without comment, Miss Parker slipped the Porsche into a higher gear.

"For instance, why are you and Jarod so concerned about his brother? And, speaking of brothers, why didn't you ever mention that Mr. Lyle was. . ."

Before he could finish his statement, the Porsche was darting around a speed-limit-honoring Volkswagen. When she saw Ryan grab the dashboard for support, she pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor.

"It's not going to work," he warned, as her driving took them into the narrow space between two lanes of vehicles. "I've got questions, Miss Parker, and, eventually, you are going to answer . . . watch out!"

Swerving into a tight spot in the left lane, the brunette ignored the horns blasting from behind and reduced the speed of the Porsche. Her eyes darted from the road to the man beside her. "There's one more very important thing you should know about me, Detective."

Hesitantly, he looked at her. "What's that?"

"I don't like being interrogated." Abruptly bringing her attention back to her driving, she shifted gears again and maneuvered the Porsche around a blue Nissan. "Everything is on a need to know basis. I will tell you only what you need to know, when you need to know it."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she snapped, "but only if you shut up long enough for me to tell you."

* * *

"What happened to him?"

Her words were directed at the guard, but her gaze was on Jarod as the chain between his wrists was tethered to the metal bar at the center of the table.

"He and his new cellmate, Birch, had a disagreement," the guard answered, stepping away from the table. "It looks worse than it is. Birch, on the other hand . . ."

"I don't give a damn about his cellmate. Has my client seen a doctor?"

The guard smiled and glanced at Philip. "He has now."

The Pretender did not react when Philip moved to his side but flinched at the man's touch. "I'm fine."

"You are far from fine, Jarod," the doctor insisted. "Now, look at me, so that I can inspect your injuries."

He tensed at the demand then, slowly faced the doctor though his eyes were trained on the woman. Her hair was curled around her ear, framing her jawbone with a softness that brought an image of Miss Parker to his mind. The image was fleeting and, somehow, unfamiliar. He frowned, trying to pull the image back, desperate to identify its origins.

"Ow!" Pulling away, Jarod glared at Philip only long enough to see the small smile of satisfaction.

"I'm sorry," the man purred. "I didn't mean to add so much pressure to the area."

"Doctor, that's enough," she said, grabbing his wrist as he reached for Jarod's face again. "Have one of the guards take you to the infirmary for whatever supplies you need. While you're gone, Jarod and I can talk."

"The injuries appear to be minor." Pulling out of her hold, he gently slid his hand under Jarod's left eye. "There will be some bruising; that's all." He looked at the woman and nodded reassuringly. "No medical supplies are needed."

"Leave anyway," she ordered, her eyes darting from him to Jarod. "I want to talk with my client."

The grin disappeared and his eyes hardened. Philip shook his head, adopting a patronizing tone. "I don't think it is wise to leave him alone with you until . . ."

"He's chained to the table," she replied coldly. "He can't hurt me."

Philip's gaze followed hers to Jarod's wrists as the Pretender uncurled his fists and pressed his palms against the table. The knuckles on his right hand were beginning to swell, while the skin over his left hand was scraped and raw. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the woman and nodded. "If you feel safe with him, I will not argue the point. However, we do have an arrangement. I insist on having time with him."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Leave. Now."

Straightening his stance, he looked down at Jarod. "I will be right outside, Jarod. We will talk as soon as you and Miss DeWitt have finished your business."

Banging on the door with one fist, Cara signaled for the guard. "It's time for you to leave, Doctor."

The room was silent as Philip rose from his chair and crossed the room. At the threshold, he looked over his shoulder at the Pretender. With his eyes lowered and his shoulders slightly forward, Jarod's posture indicated submissiveness – just as he had been trained. He stared at the man a moment longer, unsure, and then looked at the woman.

"I will be outside, if you need me. Please be very careful."

Jarod heard the words and could not help wondering to whom the warning had been directed.

"Are you sure you are all right?" she asked, when Philip was gone.

Jarod took a breath and brought his eyes to hers. "The guard was right. It looks worse than it is."

Her finger traced the raw section of skin around his knuckles. "Looks like you held your own. Do you want to tell me how it happened?"

"It's not important."

"No," she sighed, "I suppose it's not, since you won't be returning to that particular cell."

Jarod frowned in confusion.

"It seems you have friends in high places." Taking the seat beside him, she retrieved a manila envelope from her briefcase and opened it in front of her. "The Governor received a phone call from George Harper. Do you know who he is?"

Jarod nodded. "He runs a software company."

"That's kind of like saying Paul McCartney played in a band or two, isn't it? George Harper is one of the richest men in the country and it seems he's one of your biggest supporters."

Jarod smiled shyly. "Mr. Harper and I worked together once."

"Well, you must have made an impression. He has twisted some very influential arms. Though he hasn't been able to get the bail dropped, he has been able to get you out of the general population."

"Meaning I'm going to be put into isolation."

"Meaning you're going to be protected from further injuries – or worse," she countered. "I know you've only been here a few hours – but this is a dangerous place, Jarod. Your friend has done a very good thing."

He sighed and let his head rest against the back of the chair. "Isolation can be a dangerous place, too. Your mind can start to play tricks on you, convince you of things that might not be true."

She stared at him. "Are you saying you want to stay where you are?"

"Are you saying that I have a choice in the matter?"

"Only if you want your sanity questioned." When he looked at her, she shook her head and sighed. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Look, if you really don't want this, I can make some phone calls in the morning."

Jarod shifted forward in his seat so he could wipe his face with his hands. He knew he was safer away from the general population and the Centre operatives that might already be in place. He knew his transfer would ease the fears of his family and of Parker, but they would increase his.

"_As long as the target is on __**my**__ back, the people I care about are safe."_

"Jarod, talk to me. What do you want to do?"

"I'm sorry." He raised his eyes to her and sighed. "You must think I'm certifiable."

"I think you're tired and confused. Maybe a good night's sleep, without fear of being attacked, would do you some good."

"I could use some rest," he agreed with a smile. "But, honestly, I don't sleep much in the best of situations."

"That actually explains a lot."

The grin on her face told him she was teasing, but Jarod felt the urge to be serious. Sitting back in his seat, he said softly, "I am sorry for what happened at the courthouse, Miss DeWitt. I would never have hurt you. I don't know why . . ."

"It's over, Jarod, and there are no hard feelings. I don't know that I would be able to handle the situation any different, if the roles were reversed." When he lowered his eyes, suddenly finding a very interesting bruise on the back of his hand to inspect, Cara forced herself to adopt a mocking tone, "Besides, thanks to me, the judge agreed to overlook it this time."

Jarod smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome – just be careful," she said, seriously. "The judge isn't going to give you any more slack. If you so much as . . ."

"I understand."

She tilted her head to the side and stared at him. "You're not going to promise that it won't happen again?"

"I wish I could."

Though his eyes never left hers, she had the distinct feeling he was fighting the urge to look away. He swallowed hard and offered a lopsided smile, but all she saw in his face was sadness. Suddenly embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and cleared her throat. When she looked up again, Jarod was staring at the cuffs around his wrists.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked. "Should I call George Harper and tell him to undo what he did, or are you going to agree to isolation?"

The Pretender took a deep breath and let it out slowly before raising his head. He couldn't hide, not that he would have wanted to. Whatever Lyle's plan, Jarod knew his family's safety depended upon him staying in view, and accessible. "Tell him thank you, but I have to stay in the general population."

* * *

"Your sister said you've been waiting to talk to me."

Adam turned from the laptop and offered the brunette a wide smile. Despite the heavy shadows of the evening, he saw her return the grin as she took the seat beside him.

"I'm all yours," she said. "Stratford is in my bungalow, watching the DSA's and Kelley's recordings. At the very least, it will keep him busy and out of my hair - for awhile."

"He's watching Jarod's DSA's? Are you sure that's a good idea? The Centre . . ."

"Don't worry. I had Sydney pull a few, just to give him a sense of what we're up against." When he frowned, unconsciously biting his lower lip in concern, she took his hand. "Stratford knows about the Centre."

"He does?"

Miss Parker nodded and sat back in her chair, her arms loosely propped on the arms. "Unfortunately, he overheard Jarod and I talking about it. I had no choice but to explain what it was during the car ride home. The DSA's are just to fill him in on Jarod's background. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I was wondering about the recordings," he admitted, slowly. "Who, beside yourself and Sydney have seen them?"

She frowned and sat forward in the chair. "Why?"

Ignoring her question, he asked, "Have my parents seen them?"

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "What about Emily? She hasn't seen them, has she?"

Miss Parker shook her head. Almost immediately, Adam's body relaxed. The tension in his face and neck seemed to disappear. "What's going on? You aren't about to ask me to see them, are you?"

"No, Miss Parker. I don't need to see them."

She considered his words a moment then took his hand when he reached for the laptop. "Adam, did someone show them to you already? Because, you weren't . . ."

"No, I haven't seen them, but I have a pretty good idea of what they contain."

She heard the sadness in his voice but noticed that he did not look at her. Before she could question him, he typed a command into the computer. An instant later, the shipment files appeared on the screen. Distracted, she shifted her gaze from him to the screen and then back again, waiting for an explanation.

"Are those the files you took from my apartment?"

He nodded, his eye still trained on the monitor. "Before I tell you what I discovered, I need to know how confident you are that the data was accurate."

"Very. The men who work for me are professionals. They do not make mistakes."

"Thank you. I just needed to be sure."

"What is this about? Did you find something?"

"Well, I didn't see the pattern until this morning," he apologized. Pointing to the screen, he repeated the information he'd given Emily earlier, glancing at the brunette periodically to make sure she had no questions. When he was done, he took a deep breath and added softly, "I didn't understand what it all meant until about two hours ago."

"Enlighten me."

"The shipments to Denver are spaced 14-28 days apart. The shipments to Atlanta are every 14-28 days. The . . ."

"The shipments to Phoenix are every 14-28 days," she finished, annoyance seeping into her voice. "I get that part. What does it mean?"

"I did some searching," he said. Tapping another command into the computer, he split the screen and showed her articles from various newspapers. "All four of these women disappeared in the last six months – which coincides with the start of the shipments your men recorded during their investigation."

"But, they disappeared from Chicago, New York, Austin and New Orleans," she pointed out, rattling off the cities mentioned. "What's the connection?"

"They have AB negative blood." In the night air, his voice seemed to echo. He glanced at the door to the bungalow then looked back at the brunette. "Miss Parker, only 1 of the population has AB negative, including Jarod, me, and these missing women."

"You obviously don't think it's a coincidence." She frowned and tilted her head to the side. "Keep talking."

He cleared his throat. "A woman's fertility cycle is . . ."

"Fourteen to twenty-eight days," she finished.

He nodded, keeping his eyes on her face. The more shadows that filled the porch, the harder it was for him to read her expression. "Rose Barber's blood type was A positive, Susan Pearce was B negative, Claire James and Jennifer Forrest were B positive, and Jillian is O."

She sighed and waited for him to continue, hoping that his conclusions wouldn't be the same has the ones forming in her own mind.

"I think the murders are decoys – a way to keep us concentrating on him so we don't see that there is another crime being committed." Seeing her nod, sadly, he motioned toward the shipment calendar he'd created and added, "If we can find where the shipments are ending up, we will find some – if not all – of these women."

Miss Parker was silent, staring at the information on the glowing screen while her mind absorbed what she was being told. As the words began to make sense, she faced him but Adam allowed their eyes to meet only briefly before he nervously began adjusting the contrast and hues of the documents.

"Adam, this is more than a guess. You specifically searched for women who went missing in the past six months. You know what the shipments contain. You know what Lyle and Philip did to Jarod."

"I told you, I have an idea . . ."

"No, this is more than a hypothesis," she insisted, her tone taking on a pace equal to her heartbeat. "If you didn't see the recordings, how did you know about the DNA samples?"

Still not meeting her gaze, he murmured, "It's not important."

"Yes, it is." Sliding her hand beneath his chin, she tried to draw his eyes to hers, but Adam pulled away. Rising from the chair, he folded his arms over his chest and moved to the screened window that overlooked the courtyard.

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

Adam tightened the hold he had on himself, focusing on the silhouette of trees in the distance. Her tone was a mixture of controlled anger, worry and pity, none of which he wanted to acknowledge.

"When did it happen?" she asked, then softly answered her own question, "While you were on the ship. They . . ."

"It's okay. I was lucky. All he took from me was blood, hair and saliva. Lyle didn't want Claire walking in while he was . . ." He let the words fade and swallowed hard, hoping that when he spoke again, his voice wouldn't sound so young. More than anything, he wanted her to believe him when he said he was all right.

Taking his arm, Miss Parker gently turned the boy to face her. She saw the tears welling in his eyes then realized they were welling in hers, too.

"If you and Emily and Jarod hadn't come for me that night . . ."

Miss Parker slid her arms around Adam's shoulders, effectively interrupting him. He stiffened at the touch but allowed her to pull him toward her. Then, slowly, hesitantly, and with a slight shiver of uncertainty, the almost six-foot boy wrapped his arms around her waist. When her fingers fanned out across the back of his head and neck, Adam responded by resting his cheek against her shoulder.

"I was lucky," he repeated softly.

She tightened her hold on him, hoping to offer him comfort while her mind was ticking off the ways she would make Lyle pay.

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II – Retribution  
By imagine

Chapter 26/?

**Day 8**

It took only a few heartbeats before the Pretender recognized his surroundings but the remnants of the nightmare refused to ebb as quickly. With what seemed like every organ pounding to be freed of his body, Jarod slid the thin blanket to the side and dropped his feet to the ground. His hands were shaking, sweat beaded his face, his mouth was dry and his shallow breaths were laced with a slight wheeze. The nightmare had done its job – it had successfully terrified him.

Jarod moved to the sink and took a long drink from the faucet. When he had his fill, he dipped his head under the steady stream then smoothly raked his fingers through his hair as he stood. The drops slid down the back of his neck and he arched his back slightly, letting the cool water wash away the last of his sleep.

The more awake he became, the more aware he was of the muffled and vaguely disturbing noises echoing from outside his cell. Though he did not want to consider the activity at the root of the sounds, Jarod crossed to the door. Flexing the bandage that covered the knuckles of his right hand, he strained against the glass, hoping to pinpoint the source however the small, narrow window gave him nothing more than a limited view of the inmate common area. The lights were dimmed, but the cell block was not completely dark. Shadows lurked in the corners and across the catwalks. He had no idea what time it was but his instincts told him dawn was approaching.

A loud thud reverberated through the common area and Jarod decided the commotion was coming from somewhere to his left, somewhere out of his line of sight. Another thud, this time followed by a muted cry and, then, total silence, made Jarod step back from the door, unsure. His muscles tensed as if they expected someone to burst into the cell but, when nothing happened, Jarod did not release a sigh of relief. Instead, he turned his back on the door and scanned the sparse, shadowy surroundings again.

While his attorney had reluctantly agreed to leave him in general population, she had insisted he allow George Harper's influence provide him with private accommodations.

"_The 'accommodations' are two bunks, a toilet and a small sink." His voice was soft but he could feel the muscles in his face and neck had tightened. "Stop making it sound like I checked into the Trump Tower. Mr. Harper, no matter how persuasive, cannot provide me with privacy. Not here."_

"_Maybe not," she snapped, "but he can arrange for you to have a cell to yourself. You are a moron, if you turn him down. At the very least, it would give you time to adjust."_

"_You would be amazed at how quickly I can adjust to a situation, Miss DeWitt."_

_She frowned and motioned toward the fresh cuts on his face and hands. "You were roomies with – what's his name – Birch, for a little over an hour and look what happened."_

"_In prison, they're called 'cellies' not 'roomies'," he corrected in a dark voice. "And, what happened, happened to him, more than to me."_

"_Yeah, well, I still wouldn't exactly say it's good to be you, right now." Standing over him, with her arms folded, Cara moved back to the chair when he looked away. "I'm trying to help you, Jarod. George Harper is trying to help you. Why won't you let us? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in prison for something you didn't do?"_

Her words and tone had sparked more of a reaction in him than she realized. He not only had agreed to her attempts to keep him isolated during lockdown, but realized that Parker had said – yelled - similar words at him. She had accused him of giving up and done her best to bully him into fighting the situation.

At the time, he hadn't seen the point. When she told him Philip and Lyle were manipulating his memories, he had doubted her. Now, though there was no denying the fact she was right, he had trouble making sense of it. The nightmares were too vivid. The images were so horribly real he could feel the victims trembling beneath him. He could hear their voices and smell their fear. It was difficult to accept that what he remembered was false.

Jarod rubbed his face and shook his head. Nothing made sense. Frustrated, the Pretender returned to the bunk and stretched out on top of the blanket. He stared at the wall for a moment, listening to the quiet until it became overpowering. Rolling from the mattress, he crossed to the door. He looked out the window then moved to the sink; when he reached the sink, he turned and moved back to the door.

His body wanted to move. It wanted to burn off the excess energy, the anxiety, the looming depression. Physical activity had always been the way he cleared his head. It was the way he accessed the areas of his brain that helped him find the logic of life, both in and outside the Centre walls. At the Centre, he would have asked Sydney for access to the gym; he would have lifted weights or run around the mile-long track four or five times. At the beach house, he would have gone for a run, a swim, or a bike ride and he would have been gone for hours.

Closing his eyes, he imagined the breeze at his back and the sun prickling his skin as his feet rose and fell in the warm pliant sand. He saw himself running past the boulders he and Parker had claimed as their own during each sunset. He felt the ocean spraying him as it chased him down the shoreline toward the steps of the house. He heard the cry of the seagulls and, suddenly, his eyes popped open. Abruptly, Jarod turned from the wall to the door. It wasn't the cry of seagulls that floated in the distance; it was the strangled, helpless cry of a grown man. He wasn't at the beach house. He might never be at the beach house again.

Releasing a heavy, disappointed sigh, Jarod stripped himself of his T-shirt and tossed it onto the bed. Then, without hesitation, the Pretender dropped to the floor. With his hands positioned even with his shoulders and his legs stretched behind him, he began the first of several fast-paced sets of push ups.

* * *

Miss Parker sat on the steps of her bungalow, a mug of coffee clasped between her hands. She stared across the courtyard at the building currently housing Jarod's family. Her mind was unable to erase the image of Adam's face as he told of the abuse he'd withstood while on 'Retribution'.

As he had done with her, he tried desperately to downplay the trauma. It took several hours of gentle prodding but, slowly, the young man revealed that his captivity had included being thrown in the ocean while bound and blindfolded, and being hung in the ship's refrigerator. His hands gently caressed the still healing wounds on his wrists then, aware he was being watched, slid them into the pockets of his jeans as he told them about the unwanted attention Claire had bestowed upon him and the various ways Lyle had tried to make him believe that Jarod had orchestrated the kidnapping.

"_I didn't believe him," he promised. Drawing his hands from his pockets, he let them dangle at his side as his gaze darted anxiously from one adult to the next. "Jarod would never . . ."_

_Margaret said nothing as her son's words faded. Instead, she gently slipped her hand over his. The touch seemed to calm him or worry him – Miss Parker couldn't be sure of which – but it kept him silent for a few long minutes. In the warmth of the night, with nothing but the soft breeze and a distant echo of the ocean in the background, the quiet had an ominous feel._

"_I was l-lucky," he insisted softly. "Lyle didn't hurt me . . . not the way he hurt Jarod."_

_Margaret squeezed his hand, silently urging him to look at her, but the boy refused. Instead, his eyes slid to the tree line he'd concentrated on earlier. When he felt the Major's hand on his shoulder and heard the man's low promise that he was safe, Adam took a deep, shuddered breath. Haltingly, he told his parents about bathing in Lyle's suite, about the way he was coerced into making the phone call home and, finally, about the DNA harvesting. _

"_I'm sorry. I was l-luckier than J-Jarod," he finished softly. _

"_Your brother would be the first one to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry about, Baby."_

_Though his voice had cracked and faded multiple times, betraying his attempts to dismiss the abuse as excusable, his eyes remained dry until his mother's words. Her voice was moist, and her touch was warm but Adam reluctantly pulled from her hold. Wiping his eyes with his hands, he nodded and murmured something Parker had been unable to hear. Margaret, on the other hand, seemed to understand her son loud and clear. _

"_Stop it," she said, sternly turning the boy to face her. "Nothing that happened was your fault. It wasn't fate. It wasn't retribution for some past sin. Do you understand me, Adam? You were the victim."_

_His eyes darting between his parents, Adam pushed his hands into his pockets and moved to the edge of the porch. "We need to concentrate on Jarod. Lyle hurt him much worse than he ever hurt me and manipulated him into prison. If the court finds him guilty . . ."_

"_Jarod's lawyer will prove your brother is innocent."_

"_What if she doesn't?" he asked, keeping his back to his parents. "Jarod spent thirty years of his life locked away in the Centre before he escaped. He's only been free a few years. Locking him up again, without reason, is not fair."_

"_No, it's not fair, but you have to believe Miss DeWitt will prove reasonable doubt. Anyone who has ever met your brother knows he is incapable of doing the things he's been accused of." Following the young man, the Major slid his arms around Adam's shoulders and brought his youngest child toward him. "I swear to you, Son, Lyle will never hurt either one of you again. I won't let him."_

"Neither will I," she promised, repeating the words she'd said the night before. "Lyle will not walk away from this."

Taking another sip from her cup, she watched as the Major appeared on the porch of his rental. He started toward the table Adam had used to do his research then suddenly stopped and met her gaze. She nodded a greeting but did not rise from the steps as she watched the older man approach.

"Good morning, Miss Parker." He hesitated, his eyes traveling to the carport on the side of the house. Instead of finding two cars, he found only the Porsche and frowned. "Where is Detective Ryan? He and I were discussing the recordings, and Jarod's situation last night, before I left to help Adam. I was hoping we could continue the conversation."

"Stratford left about an hour ago but he'll be back. He still has a lot of questions."

"I imagine he would," he sighed, moving toward her. "Detective Stratford had no idea the Centre even existed, let alone the reprehensible things they were responsible for. Viewing Jarod's DSA's, as well as Philip Kelly's recordings, back to back for the last ten hours or so, was an intense undertaking for him. As much as I appreciate his dedication, I have no doubt he was overwhelmed. I suppose I don't blame him for taking time to process it - I just hope he realizes that Jarod's life is hanging in the balance."

"He didn't leave because he was overwhelmed. He left because the hospital called. Jillian Kincade is awake."

His smile was small, but she saw his relief. "Finally. Maybe, once she tells him what really happened at the beach house, this nightmare might start to fade."

She nodded, but could not find the words to agree with him. She knew he was aware that Jarod's freedom would not come easily. Her eyes glanced over his shoulder at the bungalow as she nodded in the same direction. "How is he?"

Climbing the steps, the Major sat beside her and murmured, "He fell asleep a little after two then woke up about four, calling out for Jarod. Margaret stayed with him until he calmed him down. As of a few minutes ago, he was restless, but still asleep."

Unsure of what to say, she took another sip of coffee.

"It's been five days since you, Jarod and Emily rescued him from that ship. Maybe we should have insisted he talk about what happened sooner. Maybe . . ."

"It wouldn't have done any good," she interrupted. "Adam had to work it through himself – the way he'd been taught."

The Major stared at her. "What do you mean?"

She sighed but did not raise her eyes to his. "At the Centre, survival and self-preservation depend on the ability to rely on yourself. He had Raines as a mentor, which just intensifies the need. Think of it as the sink or swim teaching method, with sharks."

"I don't want to think about it. Not again," he muttered, bitterly. Sliding his cup onto the step, between them, Major Charles crossed his arms and stared at the bungalow. "I just want it to be over."

"I know."

"From the moment Jarod – and then Kyle - were taken, I have done nothing by imagine all kinds of horrid things happening in that place. I never guessed that the reality was worse than anything my mind could have created."

The brunette remained silent, knowing he had more to say.

He shook his head and sighed. "I don't know if you are aware of this, Miss Parker, but rescuing Adam was not my idea. All I wanted was to get Jarod as far away from Donoterase, and the Centre, as possible; he was the one who insisted we go back. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that the boy was family."

"Family is very important to Jarod."

"I know but after . . ." The Major's eyes glistened and his voice was strained as he recalled the day Jarod was recaptured by the Centre. "After he was taken again, I could barely look at the boy. The silence between us was more than just a getting-to-know-you awkwardness. I didn't mean to, but I blamed him. I had trouble getting past the idea that my son was back in that hell hole because we went back to rescue him."

"You worked it out, though. Adam adores you."

"One night, I dreamt of Jarod. We were at the airport. You'd been shot and, now, the guns were trained on him. Instead of coming into the safety of the plane, he turned and yelled at me to go – to leave without him. He told me the boy needed a father," he continued, not acknowledging her words.

She waited, once again, for him to continue with the confession. It seemed that Jarod's predicament and Adam's admission the night before had stirred the pot of guilt in more than just her.

"To this day, I don't know if his last words to me were fantasy or memory; but, suddenly I realized what I was doing to the boy," the man continued. "I saw him - really saw him - for the first time. He kept his distance and spoke very little. He never smiled. He seldom made eye contact and, when he did, his face was filled with fear. It took weeks for me to undo what I had done, to build some kind of trust. Even now, three years later, I find myself wondering if he believes - truly believes – that I would never hurt him."

"Adam knows you love him."

Slowly, the Major turned toward her. "But does he know what love is?"

"I think he does, thanks to you, and your family," she said, finally meeting his gaze. "Any fear you see in his eyes now is the fear of losing you as his family."

"We will always be his family," the man corrected sternly. "Nothing will ever change that fact."

She looked back at the bungalow. "Good."

* * *

He was beyond tired. His anxiety about reclaiming the recordings had made him spend all night at the place the Pretender had said they were being kept. The more he'd searched the property, the more desperate he'd become and the more positive he was that he had not asked Jarod complete questions. In his altered state, the Pretender may have misunderstood. The only other explanation was that Jarod had relayed exactly the information Miss Parker had given him. It could be, he decided, that it was Lyle's sister who was playing games.

His plan was to return to the cabin only long enough to freshen up before visiting Jarod again. This time, he would request for more exact information. This time, he would not be rushed by Cara DeWitt, as he had the night before. He would take his time with Jarod; and if necessary, he would order the Pretender to perform a simulation to determine the location of the recordings.

Climbing the shallow wooden steps, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door as the telephone began to ring.

"Where the hell have you been?" the caller demanded.

Startled, he froze and stared at the handset. What were the chances that Lyle would call the moment he walked in the door?

"I couldn't sleep," he lied. "I went for a drive."

"Why weren't you answering your phone?" Lyle pressed. "I've been calling you for hours."

Reaching into his pocket, Philip pulled out his cell phone and sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize my phone was off."

"Unbelievable. I told you months ago, Doctor, that you were to be available at all times."

"Were you trying to reach me for a particular reason, Mr. Lyle?" he snapped, "Or were you just worried about my welfare?"

"Be very careful with your tone, Doctor," he warned. "Regardless of how important you believe you are to this operation, you are no longer integral. It is in your best interests to keep me happy. Is that understood?"

Philip rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Yes, Mr. Lyle. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Better, but keep practicing," he replied, darkly. "I will be there in an hour. I expect a marked improvement in your attitude."

"You're coming here? Why?"

"I want the recordings. Jarod's fate is in a very precarious position – I don't want anything tipping the scales in the wrong direction."

"Well, they aren't here." Moving to the table, Philip pulled at one of the wooden chairs and sat down. He didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, or the stress of dealing with Lyle, but his heart was beating at a dangerously rapid pace. "After your sister ransacked the place, I thought it was best if they were moved to a more secure location."

"Go get them," he ordered. "I'll be there in an hour to pick them up."

"In an hour, I will be at an appointment ninety minutes away. You will have to wait."

"What kind of appointment?"

"I told you I wanted to meet with Jarod as soon as possible. I spoke with the Warden this morning and he has graciously agreed to allow me a private session," he said proudly. "It will be the first time, in days, that I have had full access to him and I intend to use every minute."

A small, humorless chuckle echoed across the phone line. "Fine, indulge yourself with a little playtime. I'll meet you there at noon. We can go together to pick up the recordings."

"I thought you said that it was best if you weren't seen with Jarod, in public. I thought you were distancing yourself from him until the escape."

"Who said I was going to see Jarod?"

* * *

After completing fifty push ups, the Pretender had continued an exercise regime that included sit ups, leg thrusts and chin-ups using the edge of the upper bunk. By the time the electronic lock slid away, and the door to his cell opened, Jarod was sitting against the far wall, bathed in sweat.

Rising slowly, he moved to the sink and splashed water on his face. As he'd done earlier, he raked his wet hands through his hair and allowed the beads of water to slide down his back. This time, however, instead of chasing away nightmares, the sensation seemed to spark something inside of him – a strength and confidence he'd almost forgotten he possessed.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to the bed and slid his T-shift over his head. Still covered in sweat, the fabric clung to his chest and back like a second skin. He watched the men traveling past his door, toward the promise of breakfast, then reached inside the small locker beneath the bed and retrieved the orange tunic that was part of his uniform. Slipping it over the T-shirt, Jarod joined the procession to the dining hall.

Having done pretends as correctional officers, as well as inmates, Jarod knew what to expect from his incarceration. He knew the system. He knew how to handle the murmured threats, the grins that were a little too wide or a little too narrow, and the violence that could erupt at a moments notice.

What he was unprepared for was the sight of Kyle. The young man he'd met on the transport had obviously been on the receiving end of the noises Jarod had heard earlier. His movements were stiff and painful. His eyes were lowered. Though he winced when the man beside him slid around his shoulders, Kyle did not resist the touch nor did he reciprocate.

Jarod's eyes narrowed as he watched the interaction between the two men. With his breakfast balanced on the tray in front of him, the Pretender moved to where Kyle was sitting. Without a word, he stepped over the bench seat and insinuated himself into the space between him and his companion.

Kyle glanced at him, his eyes widening for only a moment before dropping back to his own untouched meal. He stabbed at the serving of oatmeal with his spoon, but said nothing. The other man, however, moved beside Jarod.

"That seat is mine. The table is full."

Holding the man's glare for a moment, the Pretender turned away without comment. His eyes trained on Kyle as the young man looked up, frightened. "Are you all right?"

The nod was so slight before he dropped his gaze back to the tray, Jarod wasn't sure he'd seen it.

"I said, that seat is taken, Pal. Move along."

"I'm not moving," Jarod replied, without looking up. "Go sit somewhere else."

Grabbing Jarod by the back of his neck, the man brought his lips to the Pretender's ear and whispered, "Get up, now, or . . ."

"Or, what?" he dared, finally facing the man. Using the darkest voice he could conjure, Jarod rose to his full height as he continued, "If I were you, I would be very careful about how I finished that sentence. I don't respond well to threats – just ask Birch."

"I'm not Birch."

Jarod tilted his head to one side, keeping voice low. "And I'm not easily intimidated."

"What's the problem here?"

Without breaking eye contact with the other inmate, Jarod shook his head as he responded to the guard. "No problem. My friend here was just saying good morning on his way to the table by the wall. Weren't you?"

Glancing at the guard, who had adopted a stance that included his arms crossed over his chest, the man lifted his tray and started away from the table. When he was behind Jarod, he leaned over long enough to whisper, "This ain't done."

* * *

Having refilled both mugs of coffee, Miss Parker found the Major sitting at the edge of the wooden glider, his head perched in his hands and his elbows propped on his knees. He sat up as she approached, forcing a smile as he took the mug she offered.

She stared at him a moment then moved to the matching glider. Crossing her legs, she took a sip of the drink, her eyes still trained on the older man. When he let out a loud sigh and leaned back in his seat, she frowned. "Either spit it out, Major, or do a better job of keeping it in. You're annoying me."

This time, his grin was genuine, albeit sheepish. "I'm sorry, Miss Parker. I was just thinking about Adam. He told me about the information he gave you last night. He told me about the women and his theory about what Lyle is doing with Jarod's DNA."

The brunette nodded and shifted her gaze to the bungalow that still held the boy. "My men are already using his findings to search for the missing women. It's the best lead we've had since this whole thing started."

"He told me that the women have been missing for six months."

"Give or take a week," she shrugged.

"What happened to the rest?"

She looked at him. "What happened to the rest of what?"

"No more games, Miss Parker. You and I both know that Lyle has been taking DNA samples from Jarod for much longer than six months."

She looked at him. "He told you?"

Nodding sadly, the Major took another sip of his drink. "After you left, Jarod was lost, Miss Parker, and it became worse once Sydney was gone. It was as if the two of you were his calming force. Without you, his emotions were raw and, at times, explosive. They tended to run the gamut from rage to fear to guilt without warning. One moment we would be trying to calm down, the next we would be reassuring him that we would never give up on him. In the end, many times, we had no choice but to sedate him."

Though there was nothing accusatory about the Major's remarks, Miss Parker looked away as he spoke and took a long swallow of her coffee.

"It didn't take long before I noticed a pattern in his behavior," the Major continued, oblivious that he'd struck a nerve in the woman. "Jarod's mood seemed to spiral after his sessions with Dr. Kelly so I made a point of sending Margaret out, ensuring that he and I would be home alone when the doctor left. It took a few weeks to convince him but, eventually, Jarod shared what he remembered about his time with Lyle."

She swallowed hard and shook her head, knowing the answer before she asked, "Did it help?"

"It helped me," he sighed. "For the first time, I understood what had happened to him."

"But, it didn't help _**him**_ much."

"No. He was frustrated. Even though he heard himself describe the disconnected images, he couldn't put them together." The Major paused and, with a shaky hand, raised the cup to his lips then brought it back to his lap without drinking. "My son has an incredible IQ. The fact that he was unable to fill in the blanks of his own mind told me he was incapable of accepting the memory and it angered me. It angered me because he'd been abused in so many ways over the years and I had never been able to protect him. I wanted to protect him, Miss Parker."

She nodded but said nothing.

"At the same time, I was frightened for him. I knew, eventually, the memories would make sense – I just didn't know how it would affect him when they did."

"What did you do?"

"The only thing I could think to do was hug him and promise that everything would be all right," he said quietly. "God, I hope I didn't lie to him."

"You didn't."

Her comment made him glance in her direction, but the woman kept her gaze on her mug, pretending not to notice.

"From that point," he continued, "every time Jarod confided in me, I tried to reassure him. He still had outbursts, some of which required sedation, but they didn't happen as often as they once had. I did my best to keep him calm and focused on the fact that, when he was ready, we would deal with his memories together. More than anything, I wanted him to trust that I would move heaven and earth to help him."

"You did the right thing, Major."

"I am not looking for affirmation of my parenting skills, Miss Parker," he said, sharply. His words held so much more power than they had moments before she was startled into facing at him. "I'm looking for answers. I want to know what exactly your brother has planned for my son."

Her eyes narrowed and, instinctively, her tone hardened. "Lyle wants to destroy Jarod and he wants to take his time doing it. He wants your son to suffer."

The moment the words were spoken, she regretted them. Despite his military background, and the strong, determined persona he showed the world, she saw the chink in Major Charles' armor. The muscles in his jaw and neck tightened then, as something in his eyes shifted, they collapsed into a father's grief.

"He's very close to succeeding," he murmured. Taking a deep breath, his eyes grazed the brunette before settling on his own hands. "One afternoon, about a month or so after he first confided in me, Jarod went for a run. When he was late coming home, I got worried. I found him on the beach, behind the large rock formation to the South of his house. His knees were pulled to his chest, his head was lowered and he was leaning heavily against the stones. He was trembling so violently, the rocks were leaving scratch marks on his shoulder and back."

He paused long enough to take a sip of the now cold coffee then grimaced at the taste. Placing the drink on the floor, the Major continued in a low, hesitant voice, "He didn't acknowledge my presence, when I said his name, or when I sat beside him but, when I slid my hand to his shoulder, Jarod fell into my arms. He whispered, 'I remember' several times; each time his voice got softer, his hold on me got tighter."

The image of Jarod, curled against his father like a child terrified of the noises that came from the dark, made Miss Parker rise from her seat. Moving to the edge of the porch, she leaned against the railing and kept her back to the man as she continued to listen.

"For the next few hours, I did little more than tell him he was safe, and promise I wouldn't leave. When it got too cold to stay on the beach, I helped him to the house. I waited while he showered and changed, then gave him one of his sleeping pills and helped him into bed. He was so exhausted, he could barely talk but he tried to tell me he was all right. I told him it didn't matter - I wouldn't leave him. I couldn't leave him." The Major took a deep breath before he continued, but his words still cracked, "I did something that night that I hadn't done in almost forty years, Miss Parker. I laid beside my son and held him – rocked him – until well past dawn, well past the point he'd fallen asleep."

She slid her hand through her hair, still refusing to look at the man. As grateful as she was that Jarod hadn't had to deal with the aftermath alone, she was livid that he'd been subjected to the abuse in the first place. The fact that it was her brother – her twin – who had victimized him did nothing to help calm her.

"Who else knows about what happened at the cabin?" she managed.

He shook his head and replied with a whisper. "No one."

"Not even Margaret?"

"I could never bring myself to tell her. She knew something was wrong, but she never asked for an explanation and I never offered one. As far as I know, Jarod never repeated what he told me to anyone."

The burning behind her eyes finally gave way to tears. For probably the first time in his life, Jarod had found the comfort and security he craved and it wasn't enough. It would never be enough as long as Lyle continued to make him a target. Abruptly, Miss Parker wiped her face with both hands, realizing for the first time that they were shaking.

"I didn't tell you this to upset you," he murmured. "But, knowledge is power, Miss Parker. I need to know what happened to the DNA samples Lyle stole from Jarod last year. The more I know the better position I will be in to protect my son."

Keeping her back to him, the woman made Jarod's father wait for her response. She wasn't trying to be difficult. Her silence was not a power play; nor was it a stall tactic. In all honesty, Miss Parker did not speak because it would not be her voice that he heard. It would be the voice of the little girl who had considered Jarod her best friend and had nagged at her for years to help him. It would be the voice of the teenager who, while at boarding school, had rebelled against every authority figure and regulation in his name. It would be the voice of her mother, telling her to reconsider her decision to leave him.

"Miss Parker . . ."

"Major, please," she whispered, irritably. "I know you want to protect your son. I know you want to protect all of your children. Just give me a minute."

He frowned at her tone, but said nothing as she tried to compose herself. The harsh, determined individual she showed the world had disappeared. In her place was a woman who was comprised of a myriad of emotions including compassion and, he thought, a little fear. For the first time, he was seeing the person his son saw. He was seeing the woman his son had all but admitted to loving.

When she turned, the muscles in her face were tight but her eyes were moist. Her voice mirrored her eyes.

"Last night, I had Broots run a search similar to the one Adam ran," she told him. "The only difference was that, where Adam scanned missing persons reports filed in the past six months, Broots scanned a year."

Rising from his chair, he met the woman's gaze. "What did he find?"

She took a deep breath. "So far, the only thing he has been able to tell me is that a woman with AB negative blood was found dead on an Atlanta hiking trail in mid-September of last year. According to police reports, she'd been missing for six weeks."

"Six weeks. She went missing at the beginning of August - about the same time Lyle brought Jarod to his cabin." Moving to her side, he grabbed the railing with his left hand and stared at her profile. "How do you know that woman's death has anything to do with the things that were done to my son, Miss Parker?"

Slowly, the brunette brought her gaze to his. Her eyes were no longer moist but they still held a softness he couldn't remember seeing before. In a low, cool voice, she told him, "The autopsy revealed that she had recently suffered a miscarriage."

* * *

"Why did you do that?"

Jarod looked at the man who had remained silent throughout breakfast, then glanced at the empty tray. "Granted, the oatmeal was a little thick and the juice was watered down, but I have had worse. Besides, I was hungry."

Kyle frowned. "I'm not talking about eating. Why did you antagonize Owens like that?"

"Owens?" Jarod repeated innocently. "Oh, you mean the guy who spent the better part of the night making you his personal punching bag?"

"Yeah, him," Kyle replied, flatly. "Why did you do it?"

Jarod shrugged. "Because he spent the better part of the night making you his personal punching bag. Owens needs to know that you are not here alone. You have friends."

"Are you insane? We met fourteen hours ago on the bus. We are hardly friends, Jarod, and you just made me a walking target. He's going to blame me. He . . ." Kyle hesitated, holding up a hand to interrupt Jarod when the Pretender opened his mouth. "Look, I know you mean well, but you can't be my bodyguard every minute of every day. I share a cell with him, remember?"

Jarod swallowed the last of his juice and nodded. "I remember. But it is nothing for you to worry about."

The young man let out an incredulous laugh as he watched the Pretender rise from the table. Quickly grabbing his tray, he hurried to the man's side. "Jarod, it's a very small cell and the nights here go on forever. Do you understand? Last night . . ."

Coming to an abrupt stop, Jarod faced Kyle with a dark expression. "I swear to you, Kyle, last night will not happen again. Trust me."

* * *

Ryan drove from the bungalow to his apartment, showered, changed and drove to the hospital completely by rote. He was on auto-pilot because his mind was still engaged in the recordings he'd viewed over the course of the evening.

The images of Jarod's past with the Centre, Lyle and Kelly, left him with a variety of questions and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The more he watched, the more he had to remind himself that it wasn't a rented B movie. He could not discard the plot as ridiculous or far-fetched, because, as hideous as it was, it was real. Somewhere around the fifteenth recording – as Philip lured a confused and drugged Jarod to the examination table to milk him of his first collection of DNA samples - the sick feeling in his stomach gave way to a determination to bring them all down.

"Lou, it's me," he said into the cell phone. "I'm at the hospital."

"Good, I tried your place half a dozen times and there was never any answer."

"Modern technology," he smirked. "You should have tried my cell phone."

"I'll remember that for next time," he muttered. "In the meantime, you should know that the hospital wasn't the only one trying to reach you. The witness you talked to at the hotel where Claire James was killed wanted to talk to you."

Ryan frowned. "Which witness?"

"He said his name was Mr. Lyle. He wanted to know if there had been any new developments," Lou continued. "The guy mustn't pay attention to the news; he didn't seem to know there'd been an arrest."

"Is that so?" he growled. "I'll have to make a point of catching him up on things. Did he leave a number?"

"No. When he found out you weren't here, he said he would try you later if he had any more questions."

"I'm sure," he muttered to himself. Then, to Lou, he said, "Look, I need you to do me a favor. Pull everything you can find on a place called The Centre. It's spelled in the European fashion - with an e at the end. All I know is that it's a corporation based out of Blue Cove, Delaware."

"The Centre, okay. What am I looking for?"

"Look for things that don't fit."

"Things that don't fit what?" he grumbled. "You're not making sense."

"I know; just pull what you can. I'll be in later and explain everything."

Slipping the phone back into his jacket, Ryan strode through the glass doors of the building. As curious as he was about Lyle's motives for calling the station, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Right now, he had to concentrate on the task at hand.

The moment he crossed the threshold, it was as if a switch was flipped inside his brain. All thoughts associated with the recordings, the Centre and Lyle vanished. In their place were the questions he had about Jillian Kincade's attack.

The guard in front of her door checked his identification and waved him in. "Her parents went to the cafeteria. They should be back soon. The nurse is in with her now."

Ryan nodded and slowly pushed the door open. Jillian was sitting up in bed, smiling genially at the woman taking her pulse. When she saw him, the smile faded and her eyes widened in alarm. Immediately, the nurse placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Honey, it's all right. He's been here before," she murmured. "He's with the police."

"You probably don't remember, Miss Kincade, but my name is Detective Ryan Stratford," he told her, holding out his badge. "I was part of the team that found you at the beach house."

Warily, the young woman took his identification. Her eyes darted between the photo and his face several times. He waited patiently, saying nothing, as she convinced herself that he was telling the truth. After a few moments, she handed the wallet back.

"My parents said that the police wanted to talk to me," the redhead said, laying back in the bed. "I just didn't think it would be today."

"If you're not up to it, I can come back later," he offered, "but I really would like to ask you just a few questions now. I promise I won't take long."

Jillian said nothing but, she nodded her consent. As he slid into the chair beside the bed, he thought he saw her shift toward the far side of the mattress, putting as much distance between them as she could. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her more so, when the nurse started for the door, he motioned for her to stay. The woman shot a quick look at the girl then nodded and lowered herself to the corner of the bed.

Retrieving a four by six photo from his jacket pocket he held it out for Jillian. "Do you recognize this man?"

She hesitated then, with a shaky hand, reached out to take the picture. "His name is Jarod."

He watched her, unsure of how to read her reaction. "He owns the beach house where we found you. How do you know him, Miss Kincade?"

"He was there." Tears welled in her eyes but Jillian quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand. Drawing her gaze from the photo to Ryan, she asked, "Can I see him?"

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows and gently took the picture from her. "I'm afraid not. Jarod is at the State Penitentiary, awaiting trial."

"Awaiting trial?" It took a moment for the words to register then her head began moving slowly back and forth, each shake becoming more and more confident. "No. You made a mistake. You arrested the wrong man."

Despite her disheveled appearance, her words were strong and had an immediate impact on Ryan. Sliding to the edge of the chair, he held the picture up to her, once more. "Look again, Miss Kincade. Are you sure this is not the man who hurt you?"

Annoyed, she slapped his hand away. "I told you it wasn't him. If you don't believe me, ask his brother."

"His brother? Do you mean his brother Adam?"

"I don't know his name. I just know Jarod said he was in the house. They were threatening to hurt him if Jarod didn't . . ." Unable to complete the statement, she let her voice fade then, in a much stronger tone, said, "Jarod was trying to keep us both safe."

* * *

When Adam emerged from his bedroom, he found his mother and sister talking quietly at the kitchen table. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as he entered, their attention immediately shifting to him. Steeling himself for the pity, and worry that he knew would follow, the young man avoided meeting their eyes as he moved around them to the refrigerator.

"Would you like me to make you some eggs, Sweetheart?" Margaret asked, moving to his side. "Or, maybe, some pancakes?"

Adam shook his head and closed the refrigerator, pulling a carton of apple juice from the door as he did so. "I'm not that hungry, Mom. I'll just have some juice and, maybe, some toast."

"Are you sure you don't want . . .?"

"I'm sure." He heard the disappointed sigh escape her lips, but did not face her. Instead, Adam crossed to the counter and drew a clean glass from the strainer in the sink. "Where's Dad?"

"For the last hour or so, he's been across the courtyard talking with Miss Parker," Emily answered.

He frowned and shot a quick look over his shoulder. "What could they possibly be talking about?"

"Probably you and Jarod," she shrugged. Still sitting at the table, she watched her brother take a sip of his juice then asked, "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, Em," he replied, facing her. "Please, just let it go. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

His words were quiet but she heard his resolve, saw his defenses rise in his eyes. It was the same tone, the same attitude Jarod had used with her countless times over the last year. Like their older brother, Adam was trying to protect her from his emotions. He was shutting her out.

Her eyes shifted from him to their mother and then back again. Rising from the chair, Emily nodded and headed toward the porch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him step away from the counter but, before he could call out, she said, "I'll go tell Dad you're awake."

Adam bit his lower lip and fell back against the counter, dropping his eyes to the glass of juice he still held.

"She cares about you a great deal, you know. She just wants to help."

Glancing at his mother, he turned and reached for the loaf of wheat bread sitting beside the toaster. "I know."

"Then why won't you let her in? You wouldn't let her be a part of last night, now you're refusing to talk to her."

Keeping his back to the woman, Adam slid one piece of bread into the toaster and pressed the plunger. He stared at the small appliance for a long moment then murmured, "I don't want to hurt her. I saw how what happened to Jarod affected her last year; I don't want to put her through that again."

Stepping behind her son, Margaret squeezed his shoulders and murmured, "Your sister is not as fragile as you and Jarod seem to think. When you try to protect her by excluding her like this, you're hurting her more than if you would just be honest. Talk to her, I guarantee she will surprise you."

* * *

The guard who accompanied Jarod to the private room at the far end of the visitor's section was the same man who had interrupted his altercation with Owens. Though the man had said nothing but that he had a visitor, Jarod had a very good idea of who was waiting to see him. However, if it hadn't been so important that agree, he would have refused the visit in favor of reporting for work assignments where he could be sure that the stance he'd taken at breakfast - that Kyle was off limits – had taken root.

He waited patiently while the guard punched in the security code for the office then allowed himself to be escorted inside. Philip was standing just steps from the door as it opened. Upon making eye contact with the Pretender, his features relaxed and a small smile emerged on his face. It was an expression that caused a chill to travel the length of Jarod's spine.

"Excellent," he said to the guard as he wrapped his hand around Jarod's upper arm. "I'll take it from here. Remove his restraints and you can go."

Without a word, the guard pulled the Pretender toward the middle of the room, yanking him from Philip's hold. Surprised by the move, Jarod stumbled but quickly recovered. Though he was annoyed at the treatment, he didn't resist when he was pushed into a nearby chair.

"I'll be right outside the door," the guard warned, his eyes locking with Jarod's. "Understand?"

Jarod glared at the man releasing his restraints but adopted a taunting tone. "I feel safer already."

Before the uniformed man could react, Philip Kelly stepped between him and Jarod. At once, the guard backed away, but his eyes slid around the doctor to the Pretender who responded in kind, staring at the man until he was out of the room.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Jarod looked up at Philip through his eyelashes. "If I have, you can be sure you are to blame, _**Doctor**_."

Philip bristled at Jarod's tone. "Stop provoking those in authority, Jarod."

"Now what fun would that be?"

Shaking his head, the doctor took a seat across from the Pretender. "Very well, do as you like. Just remember that you are no longer a free man. You no longer have a choice of how to behave."

"There are always choices, Philip."

"Are you going to be this antagonistic for our entire session?"

"If it's a problem for you, feel free to leave," he shot back. Then, seeing anger flared in his visitor's eyes, Jarod sat back in the chair and sighed. "Why are you here, Philip? What do you want? And, please, don't insult me by saying you want to help me."

"No. I want you to cooperate," he spat. Suddenly, Jarod stiffened, his eyes widening at the word that had been used against him for so long. Philip smiled to himself and added, "I want you to remember that a stolen child has no control."

"I am a stolen child," he whispered.

As he watched, Philip saw the light in Jarod's eyes dim right before they were drawn downward. The antagonistic, disrespectful and angry expression suddenly gave way to innocent obedience. It was a familiar gaze, he told himself, one that confirmed Jarod had succumbed to his training.

"That's right, Jarod. You are a stolen child so you will do as I tell say," he ordered gruffly. "You will obey me."

"Yes, Doctor."

"I want you to tell me the truth, Jarod."

For a moment, confusion flashed across the Pretender's face. "Yes, Doctor."

"I want you to remember the conversation we had yesterday. Do you remember?"

Jarod nodded.

"Do you remember what I asked you about the recordings of our sessions?"

"Yes, Doctor." Jarod swallowed hard. With his eyes still lowered, he murmured, "You asked me if Miss Parker admitted to taking the recordings from your cabin."

Philip hesitated, studying his charge for a long moment, looking for something he could not explain. Jarod's facial expressions, body language and demeanor were characteristics of the altered personality. Yet, something was different.

"Do you remember the punishment for disobeying me, Jarod?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Sitting forward in his chair, he searched Jarod's face and body for an indication that he was pretending. Though he didn't believe it was possible, it would explain why the information Jarod had shared the night before did not result in finding the recordings. He didn't believe it was possible, though. He had spent too much time training Jarod for the man to suddenly be resisting the command. Yet, something about his tone did not seem right. "Tell me what will happen if you disobey me."

Taking a deep breath, Jarod answered softly, "If I disobey you, I will lose my family."

He furrowed his brows and sat back in the chair. "Do you want to lose your family?"

"No."

Rising from the chair, Philip moved behind the Pretender and slipped his hands on to the man's shoulders. There seemed to be no tension but he began a soft massage anyway. His fingers dug into Jarod's flesh, kneading the neck and shoulder muscles as if he were working a mound of clay.

"Tell me you will obey me, Jarod."

"I will obey you, Doctor."

"Tell me you will respond truthfully to any question asked."

"I will respond truthfully to any question asked."

Still using his hands to gauge the other man's tension, the doctor leaned closer to Jarod, purposely allowing his lips to brush the lobe of his ear. "I want you to cooperate, Jarod, or I will see to it that Lyle hurts those you love. Imagine the things he would do to them. Do you understand what I am telling you, Jarod?"

The Pretender shuddered and, with his eyes still lowered, whispered, "Yes, Doctor. I understand."

Philip waited, his hands still roaming the inmate's shoulders and neck. He knew that, the previous year, while Lyle's captive, Jarod had been told that his second escape from Blue Cove had been arranged. After seeing his reaction to the death of his brother, Kyle, the Centre had decided to use his family against him. Lyle had taunted Jarod with the fact that the Centre planned to break him by making him witness the deaths of each member of his family, as he found them. Eventually, the killings would force him into isolation and drive him mad, or send him back to the Centre in order to protect those he loved.

"Good. Now, keeping that in mind, I want you to tell me where Miss Parker hid the recordings, Jarod."

* * *

From the front seat of his car, Lyle stared at the entrance to the barbed wire laced building. He glanced at his watch, impatiently then dropped his eyes to where Philip's car was parked. It was almost noon. The psychiatrist had been inside for over an hour and Lyle was getting more and more annoyed with each passing minute.

So far, the only thing that had gone as scheduled was the visit he'd had with his man inside the prison. The meeting had taken no more than half an hour. Since then, he'd been sitting in the parking lot, waiting for Philip to finish coddling the Pretender.

"_You're sure you can handle it?"_

"_Yes, Mr. Lyle," the man grinned. "I am positive that I can keep tabs on him without him knowing."_

"_And you can make sure he is subjected to the all aspects of prison life, right? He is a very curious man. I wouldn't want him to be denied a new experience."_

_Taking his cue from the Chairman's son, the man allowed his smile to grow and sat back in his chair. "It will be my pleasure."_

Smiling at the memory, Lyle reached for his cell phone as the device vibrated beside him. "You had better have found him, Willie."

"We did, Mr. Lyle. He is exactly where you said he would be. How do you want us to proceed?"

"I don't. I want you to follow him," he instructed. "I have a suspicion that our boy has been inducted into the Jarod Fan Club. Before too long, he will lead us to the rest of the members."

Willie nodded. "And, if he does, do you want us to take the boy?"

"No. I don't want you to do anything except watch and report to me hourly," he replied. "I'll tell you when you can move in when the time is right. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Lyle."

"Good."

TBC ;-P


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer in part 1

Note: I know this part has been a LONG time coming - much longer than I had anticipated. Thanks so much for your patience.

Survival II – Retribution

By imagine

Chapter 27/?

He crossed the porch and down the steps without stopping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Major still talking with Miss Parker. Though he was incredibly curious about what the two could still be discussing, he continued to the gravel road with barely a glance in their direction.

Shifting the weight of his laptop from his left shoulder to this right, he shot a quick look at his wrist watch. If things went as planned, he could have everything resolved – or at least, on the way to being resolved – in a few hours.

He saw her standing in the water, the ocean waves splashing just below her knee. Stopping at the edge of the road, he watched her a moment, knowing she was unaware of his presence. Her gaze was trained on the horizon, her fingers lightly skimming the ripples of the surf.

The urge to go to her was overwhelming. When he had questions, she was the one who gave him honest advice. When he was unsure, or frightened, she was the one who seemed to know how to comfort and reassure him. Until recently, she had been more than just his sister and confidante. She had been his friend when he had no point of reference to understand what it meant.

"_Your sister is not as fragile as you and Jarod seem to think. When you try to protect her by excluding her like this, you're hurting her more than if you would just be honest. Talk to her, I guarantee she will surprise you."_

Remembering his mother's words, he took a step toward Emily. As his feet felt the soft warm sand for the first time, he hesitated. Unsure, he sighed and bit his lower lip and backed away, absently rubbing the crystal of his watch while keeping his gaze trained on the woman. Part of him hoped she would make the decision for him, that she would turn away from the ocean, see him watching her and question his presence. If that happened, he told himself, he would not lie.

By not confiding in her now, there was a good chance he was irreparably damaging their relationship and, as frightening as that thought was, he could not make himself go to her. As much as he trusted his sister and trusted his plan, he knew that she would try to convince him it was too risky. She would play devil's advocate and he didn't have the time to argue his idea point by point. Jarod didn't have the time.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, turning away.

*********

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know about you, but I have things to do and people to see." To emphasize her words, she glanced at her watch and then at the clock above the stove as she moved from the porch to the kitchen. "Besides, it's better if I'm not here when Stratford gets back. He's going to want answers I can't give him – not yet."

"Forget about the detective - you still owe me some answers."

"How do you figure I owe _you_ anything?"

Taking a deep breath, the older man waited for the woman to face him then closed the distance between them. "My sons trust you with their lives and yet both of them have been hurt. I'm not blaming you for your brother's actions, Miss Parker, but you seem to be the only one who can find them the truth."

"What truth are you looking for, Major?"

"You can start with why you are so sure that the woman found in Atlanta miscarried Jarod's child," he replied curtly, "and then you can tell me what you plan on doing with the disks."

Ignoring the reference to the information Broots had found about the woman, she glared at the man. "I risked a lot to get those disks. What I do with them is my business."

"You don't really believe that, do you? Those disks chronicle the abuse Jarod has suffered for almost a year. They're his business and, by extension, mine."

"I am perfectly aware of what the recordings contain, Major. And I am equally aware of how much you need to be involved in Jarod's life but . . ."

"It's more than needing to be involved in his life. This is about protecting him. He's my son." When she turned away, he grabbed her arm and, in a tone that was equal parts desperation, pleading and warning, he said, "You and I have been talking nicely since early this morning, Miss Parker. We have treated each other with honesty and respect. Do not start treating me as a fool now. Does Jarod know what you're planning?"

"Yes." Pulling herself from his grasp, the brunette continued toward the sink and placed her mug on the edge. Crossing her arms, her expression suddenly mirrored his. "And he wants you and your family left out of it."

He waited a moment, hoping the weight of his stare would convince the woman to continue but she refused to comply. "Obviously, neither of you have any intention of letting the disks make it to a jury. So, why show them to the detective?"

"Don't make assumptions, Major," she shot back. "If you do not realize the faith Jarod puts in those in law enforcement, then you nothing about your son. But, I'll tell you what - when Stratford finishes interviewing the Kincade woman, and comes back to question Adam about what really happened at the beach house – feel free to ask him about his plans."

Startled, the Major took a step back, rubbing his neck as he contemplated her warning. "We don't know, for a fact, that she knows Adam was there."

"We don't know that she doesn't, either," she replied. "For all we know, Jillian Kincade was much more aware of what was happening than anyone – including Lyle or Jarod – realized. You and your family need to be prepared. You need to decide on a course of action. Regardless of what Jarod claims, Adam is probably the only one who knows what happened but coming clean may put all of you in the crosshairs of both Lyle and the Centre."

"The Centre had nothing to do with what happened to Jarod – not this time," he pointed out. "It was all Lyle."

Her smile was condescending but her tone was sympathetic. "Lyle is the Centre. He'll go to them for protection and, without proof of any betrayal, they'll give it to him, if only to protect their own asses. Then my brother will simply disappear."

"So, you think that telling the truth will put my children in more danger."

"Honestly, I don't think it's possible to put any member of your family in more danger than they already are," she replied darkly. "Do you?"

*********

"You are an incredibly stubborn man, Jarod."

He sat facing the table with his hands in his lap and his body stiff with tension. His dark eyes were lowered but, peripherally, he managed to follow the doctor's movements. The man's arms were crossed, and his face was set in a disapproving scowl as he moved around the chair. Though the expression was similar to the one his mentor had displayed whenever he dared to test the boundaries of his childhood, Jarod knew that was where the comparison ended. Philip was much more devious and, in his current state of desperation, more unpredictable than Sydney had ever been.

Moving behind the Pretender, Philip stood so close to the back of the chair that the fabric of his shirt brushed against the man's neck. "You are also intelligent enough to know that your priority should be protecting those you claim to love, not the woman who, as you admitted in many earlier sessions, played with your mind and heart countless times over the years. Or, is there a reason you protect her as you do your family?"

The Pretender shifted slightly in his seat, but said nothing.

"Are you in love with Miss Parker, Jarod?"

Smiling at his charge's sudden discomfort, Philip crouched beside him. Sliding one hand to Jarod's knee, he slowly slid it up the man's leg while keeping Jarod's dark eyes locked on his. "Deep down, you know that Miss Parker doesn't care about you, Jarod. She lost everything that provided her with security – her family, her career, her sense of belonging – and she blames you. She does not plan to use the recordings to help you, or your family. She will do just the opposite. She wants to see you with nothing, Jarod."

Jarod's expression softened as he averted his eyes from the doctor. Taking a deep breath, the Pretender forced himself to look back and blinked away the tears that had welled in his eyes. Shaking his head, he opened his mouth to speak.

"You know I am right," Philip urged, continuing the soft massage of the man's thigh. "Say it. Say that you know I am right."

"I . . ." Jarod hesitated then, without another word, dropped his gaze to his hands.

"Stop resisting me, Jarod. I want to help you." Slipping his hand to the inside of Jarod's leg, he began squeezing and rubbing the firm muscle as he spoke, admiring the quickening rise and fall of the man's chest. "You have always trusted me and you know that I just want to help you have the life you were meant to have, Jarod. Tell me where she hid the recordings. Do it to keep your family safe, Jarod. You want to keep them safe, don't you?"

He felt the Pretender shudder but, before the man could find his voice, there was a knock at the door. Frustrated, Philip rose to his feet, slowly pulling his hand from the warm nest of skin and muscle it rested between. Returning to the spot behind the chair, he took hold of Jarod's shoulders and was satisfied to find it took little effort to hold the man in place.

"What is it?" Philip barked, when the door opened. "You are interrupting a private session."

"The Warden sent me to check on you." The guard glanced at Jarod who, obeying the gentle squeeze that warned him to keep still and quiet, did not raise his eyes. "The surveillance cameras have been turned off for almost two hours and . . ."

"And they shall remain off. Remind the Warden that we have an arrangement."

The guard nodded, his eyes darting once again at Jarod. "We just wanted to make sure that you were safe."

"I am fine," he snapped then, feeling the prisoner stir under his touch, softened his voice. "However, since you're here, I have an errand for you."

Pushing away from the chair, he crossed the room and pulled out a slip of paper from his jacket. "Take this to the infirmary. I was not allowed to bring my medical bag into this room so I need these items brought to me at once."

The guard frowned at the scribbled list then glanced at Jarod, unsure.

"My patient and I are nearing a topic that has, in the past, brought out his violent tendencies," Philip said, answering the man's unspoken question. "The sedative and restraints are for Jarod's safety. They are a normal part of his treatment. The infirmary doctor will find Jarod's signed consent in his file."

Staring at the slip of paper in his hand, the uniformed man shot another quick look at Jarod. His face darkened for a moment before he nodded and backed out of the room. "All right, I will be back in about ten minutes – assuming that there is a letter of consent."

"Don't do this," he whispered, timidly raising his eyes to the doctor when they were alone. "Please."

Philip stared at him until the Pretender dropped his gaze, dejectedly.

"I am afraid that you are giving me no choice, Jarod." Moving behind the chair, he placed his hands on Jarod's shoulders, "By refusing to obey me, unconditionally, you are forcing me to use your special sedative. Do you remember the effects it has on you?"

The muscles in the Pretender's jaw tightened at the words, but he said nothing.

"Of course you do." Sighing loudly, Philip began roughly pinching and rubbing the area close to Jarod's neck. "I hate to revert to the methods I used early in your training however you have been very uncooperative lately but the sedative has a proven history of success in helping you to remember that you are not in control."

"I did what you asked," he managed, his voice cracking as Philip's hands slipped beneath his shirt. "I told you everything she told me. If the recordings were not at the beach house then she lied to me. I don't know where she put them."

"There was a time when I would have taken you at your word." His fingers deftly applied pressure to the bruises and scars that adorned his prisoner's upper chest. "But, you have been defying and questioning me too much lately. Your loyalty must be with me, Jarod, if you have any hope of becoming well again. I am the only one who can help you."

The Pretender twitched suddenly; inhaling sharply as the doctor's warning was spoken.

"I have it on good authority that you and Miss Parker share a bond. You understand each other. You protect each other from harm only so you can inflict the hurt yourselves. Your interactions with her are highly destructive, Jarod." Both hands were now back on Jarod's shoulders, rubbing them with a pressure that, under other circumstances, might have felt relaxing. "Does that sound like an accurate description of your relationship?"

"Miss Parker and I have known each other a long time. We were friends, as children."

"Interesting, but it does not answer my question." Philip dug a closed fist deep into the muscle between Jarod's shoulder blades, causing the Pretender to arch his back while his right hand slid beneath the pretender's shirt again, spreading across his heart. "When you do not answer my questions, it makes be think you're keeping something from me. Are you keeping something from me, Jarod?"

"I don't want her hurt," he answered softly.

"I just want the recordings. You can give me that information by running a simulation," he replied, continuing the aggressive massage while adding softly, "There is no reason for Miss Parker –or anyone else - to be hurt unless you refuse to cooperate."

"I cannot run a simulation on Miss Parker." Keeping his eyes lowered, he gasped for a breath as the hands moved further down his body, one trailing his spine until it rested at the small of his back while the other applied a slight pressure across his abdomen. The contact was becoming more and more intimate yet, despite the fact it was unwanted, Jarod was aware that the man's strokes preceded a warm, comforting sensation. "It is not allowed."

"That sounds like a Centre rule." Abruptly, Philip yanked the man back by the hair. The act caught the Pretender off guard and, by the time he caught his breath, the psychiatrist was whispering hotly into his ear, "Centre rules do not apply to you any longer, Jarod. Only my rules matter and I want you to run the simulation."

Groaning softly as the menacing hand slid up his chest to his throat and cupped itself below his chin, he shook his head. "I cannot run a simulation on Miss Parker."

Though he pulled one hand from Jarod's hair, the other continued to pulse against the Pretender's throat, forcing the man to keep his head at an awkward angle. "Tell me, Jarod, has your life been happy these past few months? Have you been content with your relationships and your conscience?"

The Pretender hesitated then nodded, as much as the hand that held him allowed. "Yes, Doctor."

"Of course you have because, for months, I have been protecting you from memories that would cause you unfathomable pain and _**guilt**_." He felt Jarod's pulse increase and watched as the words caused an expressive change to the man's profile. "I believed that you were worthy of my protection and that, through your obedience to me, you had earned the peace of mind that comes from ignorance. When you disobey me, as you are doing now, though, I cannot help but wonder if, as Lyle believes, I am guilty of coddling you. Perhaps I should have allowed you to experience some of those horrific events. Perhaps making you relive them now would make you understand how much you owe me and how much control I really have over your life."

Jarod took a deep breath, turning his head away from the man's hot breath. When the session began, he had announced that he could not say where the recordings were hidden, and prepared himself for what would happen. He knew the adamant, and continuous, refusal would spur the doctor to take steps to confuse and manipulate him into cooperating.

Philip Kelly did exactly as he predicted and Jarod complied with most of the psychiatrist's commands. He relived some of the most traumatic and horrific periods of his life– without hiding the pain the memories caused. He trembled at the right times, adopted submissive gestures and tones, and did nothing to ward off the unwanted physical attention. Every action he took, or refrained from taking, was designed to lend credence that he was still sensitive to suggestion.

It was a dangerous game and, despite the steps she had taken to reduce the chances he might be affected by the mantra that had controlled him for so long, Parker had been against it from the start. She'd argued that he would be too vulnerable and unprotected. He'd argued that pretending to submit to Philip's will was the only way to distract the doctor long enough for her to negotiate with Lyle for the disks. It wasn't until he promised to stop the charade, if it became too dangerous, that his childhood friend agreed to follow his plan.

Now, though he was in a position to honor his vow to her, Philip's threat of punishment had sparked the promise of answers. The gaps in his memories, and not knowing the events that belonged in their place, were becoming increasingly difficult for him to handle. Jarod didn't care how violent or disturbing they might be, the memories were his and he wanted them back.

Releasing his hold, Philip rose to his full height and crossed his arms. For reasons he could not explain, the absence of the man's touch sent a shiver through Jarod's body.

"I want you to run the simulation, Jarod. I want you to tell me where Miss Parker has hidden the recordings."

Looking up at the doctor, the Pretender summoned tears and shook his head slowly. "Please. I am not allowed to . . . ."

Frustrated, Philip began pacing in front of his charge. "You are bound to obey me, Jarod. Run the simulation or I will have no choice but to use the sedative to punish you and then force you to do as I say. I will not warn you again."

Again, Jarod shook his head, making sure the act held little confidence. "I - I cannot run a simulation on Miss Parker. It is not allowed."

*********

Ryan let his gaze drift to the nurse sitting on the edge of the bed while Jillian haltingly shared the distorted, painful and, sometimes incomplete memories of her captivity. The older woman's expression remained stoic; the emotion behind her dark eyes, however, fluctuated between pity, horror and calm reassurance. When she managed to shift her attention away from her patient, Ryan saw a demand for him to make everything right. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do more but he knew better than to make promises. He had been with the police department long enough to know that – sometimes – justice and the law didn't overlap.

From the moment he'd arrived, Jillian told him everything she could remember about where she'd been kept, regardless of the toll it took on her mind and body. At times, her voice and body trembled uncontrollably. Other times, she fell silent in the middle of a thought, her eyes suddenly glazing over with a memory she couldn't repeat.

"Do you remember anything about the night you were taken? How it happened?"

Once again, her voice held a tremor. "It was morning, not night. I came home from a run and they were in my house. Someone put their hand over my mouth and . . ."

When her voice faded and she turned her head away, Ryan knew the memory was either one that she couldn't repeat or one that her mind had chosen to suppress. When she whispered an apology, he told her to take her time.

"Just tell me what you can," he urged. "The rest will come when, and if, the time is right."

"What if it never comes?"

"Then it never comes." He shrugged and forced a proud smile. "I don't know if anyone told you, but I'm pretty darn good at my job. I bet I can put a case together with whatever you tell me."

His words did what he'd hoped they would – they brought a soft grin to the young woman's face and a nod of approval from the nurse.

"I remember that, except for a dim bulb, there was very little light in the place they took me." Her hands slid up the outsides of her arms, as if a sudden chill had interrupted her thought. "It was damp all the time, the way it feels during a late autumn rain."

As soon as the words were spoken, the nurse rose from the bed. Retrieving a blanket from the small closet, she draped it over Jillian but the younger woman didn't seem to notice.

"The first time I saw Jarod, I was in his arms. The sun was behind him and there was a warm breeze. I thought . . ."

When her voice trailed off, Ryan nodded and looked down at his notebook. He knew what she thought. She thought she'd been rescued. She thought her nightmare was finally over.

Unaware that the detective was contemplating her last words, Jillian murmured, "I must have moved because he looked down and seemed sad to see I was awake. That's when he apologized and laid me in the trunk of the car. He brushed the hair away from my face and apologized again. I believed him."

"So, the only thing Jarod said was that he was sorry?"

"What else should he have said?"

He shrugged and glanced at the nurse before admitting, "Nothing, I suppose. Do you have any idea how long you were in the car?"

Slowly shaking her head, Jillian lowered her eyes. "I remember someone telling Jarod to make sure I watched the sunset. They said it was my … reward for cooperating." Meeting Ryan's eyes, she added hopefully, "So, it couldn't have taken us long to get to the beach house. Right?"

He looked at her, silently promising that he would not make this more difficult on her than was necessary, ignored her question. "Who told Jarod that you had to see the sunset?"

When her brow crinkled with confusion and her eyes began to glisten with a difficult memory, he looked away, uncomfortably. One of the things he hated the most about his job was making a victim relive their trauma. Though, logically, he knew it had to be done in order for justice to be served, a part of him always felt as if he were just adding to their pain.

"I don't know. All I know is that it was a man." Ryan watched as she bit her lower lip and took a shuddered breath before sinking deeper into the bed.

"Would you recognize the voice, if you heard it again?"

"I don't know." She hesitated but refused to look at him when she admitted, "Maybe."

"Could he have been at your house?" he asked, ignoring the disapproving glare of the nurse. "Or, could you have heard his voice when he threatened Jarod's brother?"

"I never heard the threats," she whispered. Swallowing hard, she took a sip of water offered by the nurse. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly stronger. "Jarod was wearing one of those wireless devices in his ear. I could only hear his side of the conversations and, most of what I did, didn't make sense."

"We didn't find an earpiece at the scene. Do you know what happened to it?"

"I pulled it out of his ear when I hit him and threw it toward the water." Her hands were trembling as she ran them nervously through her hair again. When she met his gaze, her voice was soft and unsure. "I think he wanted me to hit him. He told me I bought us and his brother some time. Did I make things worse?"

Ryan sighed at the shakiness of the young woman's tone. Her breaths were quick and laced with a slight wheeze. He watched as the nurse moved to the far side of the bed, took Jillian gently by the wrist and began monitoring her pulse. For the first time, he noticed that the stark white linens offered little contrast to her skin and, surrounded by the mane of red hair, she appeared disturbingly pale.

He smiled and shook his head. "You survived. I would hardly call that making things worse."

"It was strange. I thought Jarod might kill me, yet I remember feeling safe with him. At least, I felt _safer. _His voice was gentle. He didn't taunt me," she said quietly. Gripping the top edge of her blanket, she stretched out her legs and laid against the pillows. "Jarod never said I was going to die soon or made me thank him for the drugs."

"What _**did**_ he say to you?" he pressed, gently. "Did Jarod tell you anything about the people threatening his brother or why they wanted him to … hurt you?"

Pulling her knees to her chest, she drew the yellow cotton blanket to her shoulders and shook her head. Her voice was suddenly meek. "I don't think so. I just . . . I remember something but it doesn't make sense." Looking at him, she asked, "Do you know when Jarod's birthday is? Or his brother's?"

Ryan shook his head. "What do their birthdays have to do with what happened on the beach?"

"I thought someone said something about the zodiac sign – Gemini." Letting her eyes meet his for a moment, she turned away abruptly and shook her head. "It must have been the drugs. I told you it didn't make sense. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, you're doing great," he promised. "If it means something, we'll figure it out."

"But, in the meantime, Jarod is in jail and that's not right. You can't find the earpiece to prove he was being coerced. I can't tell you who the other men were or give you a description or even tell you why they wanted me dead. What if they come back? What if . . ."

His hand hovered near her shoulder but, unsure of how she would react to the touch, he brought it back to his lap. "I promise, Miss Kincade, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you."

"You don't even know who the bad guys are – how can you promise they won't hurt me?" she dared.

Rising from the chair, he glanced at the nurse then forced a small smile for Jillian. "I told you, I'm good at my job. Try and rest now. We'll talk again, later."

He'd only taken one step when Jillian reached for his arm. "Wait. What about Jarod's brother? Can't he tell you what was happening at the house?"

"Unfortunately, Adam and I haven't had a chance to talk yet." His right eyebrow rose slightly as he grinned. "I plan on seeing him when I leave here. Now, get some rest."

Pulling the door open, he smiled at her once more, and stepped into the hall.

He knew how the courts worked. She was fragile. Despite being the victim, her testimony would never be heard. If by some chance it was, experts would refute every word by claiming she was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Or, just as worse, every memory might be discounted as nothing more than hallucinations caused by the drugs she'd been fed. For her sake, as well as Jarod's, he had to make sure she didn't testify and the only way he could do that was by finding someone else who could corroborate what she'd told him. He had to talk to Adam.

Waiting until the door shut completely, Ryan turned toward the guard. A firm line of determination replaced the grin of reassurance he'd offered Jillian and, simultaneously, his eyes hardened. "No one sees her except her parents and approved medical staff. Get a clipboard. I want the ID's of all visitors logged as well as arrival and departure times. If anyone unauthorized tries to get inside, I want to be notified immediately. Is that clear?"

Taking the Detective's card, the officer nodded. "Yes, Sir."

*********

Though the Pretender offered no resistance, Philip insisted that two guards hold Jarod in the chair while the sedative was injected. One man slid his beefy arm around Jarod's neck, pulling him backward until his spine was flush with the wooden frame of the chair. Meanwhile, the second man placed his knee across the prisoner's legs and held both wrists tightly against his chest.

He watched as Jarod's dark almond-shaped eyes darted from one face to the other, a soft whimper escaping his throat as the guards tightened their grips. Despite his attempts to hide it, Philip could see that the physical contact was the driving force behind Jarod's growing panic. After over a year of having his body touched and manipulated by others in ways that, in a proper world, required consent, the Pretender was becoming unhinged.

"Relax, Jarod," he cooed, sliding the back of his hand along the man's taut shoulder. "It will be all over very soon. In the meantime, I want you to keep your eyes on me. Look at me, Jarod. Good boy."

For a moment, the Pretender's breaths regulated but, as the needle invaded his shoulder his body tensed. He fought against the men who held him with renewed strength, freeing one arm long enough to swing at the larger guard. The moment the syringe was removed from the muscle, though, Jarod's body suddenly went lax. His breaths reverted to the normal rhythm reserved for a peaceful sleep and, though his dark eyes remained open and trained on Philip, his expression seemed to glaze over.

"Thank you, Gentlemen," Philip said, sliding the needle back into its case. "I will not require your assistance any longer."

"What about the restraints?"

Studying the Pretender, he smiled and shook his head. "Jarod will not require them today."

Hesitantly, the guards released their captive, watching the man for any indication of another outburst. When Jarod remained still, his eyes obediently following the psychiatrist's movements, they stepped toward the door.

The moment he heard the click of the latch, Philip moved to where Jarod was sitting. Crouching in front of the still man, he placed his hands on Jarod's knees, squeezing them gently, smiled. "A stolen child has no control."

Jarod's dark orbs remained fixated on his captor and responded in a low, dull voice, "I am a stolen child."

Philip patted Jarod's left knee to show his approval then rose to his full height and, once again, moved behind the man. His hands slid to Jarod's shoulder and, as he began a gentle massage, he asked, "Do you feel the warmth of my touch?"

The Pretender swallowed hard and nodded, closing his eyes and the hands slipped down his arms. He knew that the soothing heat spreading through his body was caused by the sedative but the more the firm open palm pressed against his skin, seemingly leading the drug through his body, the more Jarod's logic faded.

"You are always relaxed and comforted by my touch because you trust me," Philip murmured, sliding his right hand from Jarod's arm to the side of the man's face. When the Pretender turned into the cupped caress, the doctor smiled. "The human body needs to have healthy contact with others. The light brush of a hand against your face, a tight embrace, even a simple pat on the back received regularly can make the difference between a contented life and one of despair. Unfortunately, until you met me, you have been exposed to violent and forced interactions with people who wanted to hurt you, Jarod. Isn't that right?"

Jarod nodded against the hand a moment before it slid from his face to his shoulder.

"I am the only one who has ever cared enough about your well being to provide you with physical as well as emotional and mental stimulation. I have given you everything you need. You are grateful for my presence in your life, aren't you?"

"Yes," he whispered as the warm glow spread across his chest.

"I have done a lot of things for you, Jarod. I have always done what is in your best interests."

Though there was no question, the Pretender nodded.

"When you are blatantly disobedient, it hurts me, Jarod. I do not enjoy punishing you." He felt Jarod tense and smiled. Continuing a soft massage of the man's arms, he whispered, "I have not had to discipline you in a long time, Jarod, so I am going to be lenient with you today. I have decided on sharing two memories that will do you little harm. I do not believe that you truly understand all that I have done for you, so once you have experienced these memories, you will be given the opportunity to apologize and obey my command."

Jarod's eyes were open now, fixed on the door to the room. The affectionate tone of the doctor had disappeared and, though his body still seemed to be radiating a warm glow, a small cold knot was forming in the pit of his stomach.

"If you still refuse to obey me, I will reveal two additional memories. Each one will be more difficult for you than the last and we will continue in this manner until you have learned your lesson. Is that clear?'

Jarod nodded.

"Very good," he sighed, stepping away from the chair. "Now, close your eyes. Do you see the door?"

The Pretender hesitated, searching for the object in question. Finding it in the corner of his mind, he held his breath and murmured, "Yes, I see it."

*********

"What did you find?"

"I've only had two hours," Lou reminded him, "But, what I did find is kind of . . . strange."

Ryan sighed and jammed the key into the slot on the steering wheel. "Of course it is. Tell me."

"Almost every file I found that references this place, describes it the same way. 'The Centre is a corporation committed to altruistic endeavors throughout the world'. That was a direct quote, by the way, in just about every file."

"Every file?" he repeated.

"Pretty close. And I wasn't just looking at Public Relations kind of stuff. A friend at the IRS found the same quote in a government written summary of a Centre audit and I found it when I ran their name through the FBI database."

Ryan sat back in the seat and stared at the hospital building. Was it possible that this corporation was really this well connected? "I don't suppose you found anything else."

"Then you would be under-estimating me, Pal. I found that, as an 'altruistic' corporation, they've done work for various government agencies."

"Whose government?"

"At least a dozen, including ours."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ryan let out another sigh. "What else do you have?"

"Well, it seems that the Delaware branch of the Centre . . ."

"What do you mean – the Delaware branch? How many branches are there?"

"I found about half a dozen scattered across the globe but there may be more. Delaware is the only branch I could find in the U.S. There were two in Africa, one in Europe, Australia and Asia." Lou waited a few seconds before deciding to continue with his original train of thought. "As I was saying, the Delaware branch appears to be a family-run operation. It was founded over a hundred years ago by a Scottish immigrant named Parker."

"Parker," he repeated. "Are you sure?"

"No doubt about it. And, before you ask, I have someone running a search on Jarod's favorite visitor. I don't have the results yet, so I don't know if she's connected to the family or if it's just a coincidence that her name is the same."

"Did you find any pictures of the family?"

"We located a few but we're still looking. What we did find is that their Annual report lists the daughter of the Chairman, and one time head of Security, as 'Miss Parker'. There was no first name and, according to the report, she's deceased."

"I honestly don't know if Parker is her first or last name," Ryan admitted. "How did this _Miss _Parker die?"

"The report says she died in a fire, somewhere in the woods of the Midwest, last year."

Ryan sighed and starting the engine. "You did good in a short amount of time, Lou. Thanks. I'll be in the office in about an hour to pick it all up."

"Yeah, well, don't hang up yet. I have one more little piece of information for you," he said. "We pulled the Annual Reports back to 1996. In '97, the Centre listed someone other than a Parker as Chairman."

"Don't tell me it was Jarod."

"Not a bad guess, all things considered," he nodded, "but, so far, I haven't found any reference to Jarod. No, the Chairman was listed as Mr. Lyle and – for him – there's a picture."

"Mr. Lyle. You mean the guy who . . .?"

"Yep, he's the guy who fingered Jarod for the murder of Claire James."

*********

"The door leads to your memories. As long as it's closed, nothing can hurt you. You are never allowed to open the door without explicit direction from me," the doctor stated.

The Pretender said nothing as he stared at the image created in his mind, but nodded slightly in agreement to the man's words.

"Very good, now, I give you permission to open the door, Jarod. Open the door but do not enter."

The door swung inward and an image of Philip appeared beside it. Without a word, the doctor turned and entered the darkness beyond the threshold. Though he wanted to follow, Jarod found he was unable to take a step in any direction. It seemed as if, in the confines of his own mind, Philip did truly have control of his actions. Just as Jarod began to panic, the psychiatrist appeared in front of him with a piece of stiff paper that measured no more than 3 by 5 inches.

He stared at the card for a moment then looked at the doctor questioningly.

"I know - it looks like an instant lottery ticket. It's not very original but, as they say, every card is a winner," Philip grinned. Jarod's brows furrowed as he looked back at the card, turning it over in his hand as the doctor continued, "Each holds a memory, as it is retained in your mind today. Some of them are no longer than fifteen minutes; others can be as long as a week. When you scratch the gray matter from the surface you will find that either the memory stays in tact – meaning it is real – or another image will come into focus. If this happens, Jarod, it means that the original recollection was false and was shielding you from the actual event. The second image, my boy, is what really transpired."

His throat was dry. In his quest to fill in the gaps in his mind, he had never considered that false memories as long as a week were a possibility.

Philip slid his fingers around Jarod's and gripped the digits tightly. Tilting his head to one side, he stared at the dark-eyed man. "Your world is about to change, Jarod. You are about to learn things about yourself that may be very disturbing but it is an important lesson that is long overdue. I am confident that, once you realize the lengths I have gone to care for you, you will no longer resist or question my decisions."

*********

Taking a deep breath, the Major faced the brunette as her cell phone rang. Before he could tell her not to answer, she turned away. Bringing the phone to her ear, Miss Parker greeted the caller with a harsh, "What?"

Frustrated that their conversation had been interrupted, the Major took a step toward her, determined to snatch the phone from her hand but came to a sudden halt. The resolve he saw in her face seconds before had disappeared and, in its place, was a mixture of anger and concern.

"How the hell could you leave him with that quack for over two hours? I told you to call me the second he showed up. What do you mean you didn't know he was there? I _**paid**_ you to know!"

He listened, his gut constricting at the same rate as her rise in temper. She glanced at him but, quickly turned away, refusing to make eye contact as she listened to the caller. When she hit the refrigerator door with the heel of her palm, he grabbed her wrist and spun her toward him. Scowling, the brunette yanked herself from his grasp and resumed her tirade.

"You're digging yourself a bigger hole, you moron! I thought only the infirmary doctor could dispense drugs." After a split second her chastising shifted to originate from somewhere deep in her throat, creating a gravelly hiss that he had never heard her use. "You idiot! I'm on my way and, if you have any brains at all, you'll make sure that I get in to see him!"

Before the caller had the chance to say another word, Miss Parker broke the connection. Spinning on her heel, she found the Major standing at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. Grabbing her jacket from the hook by the door, she pushed past the older man. "I paid a guard to keep an eye on him and he managed to screw it up. Jarod has been locked in a room with Philip Kelly for over two and a half hours."

"And he's been drugged?"

"So I've been told," she growled, dropping her eyes as she slid into the garment. "He promised he wouldn't let it get this far!"

"Who promised you?"

"Who else but Jarod would dare renege on a promise to _me_? He wasn't supposed to let it go this far."

"So this is part of some grand plan you and he worked out?" Following her onto the porch, he grabbed her arm. "Why wasn't I told? Jarod is my son! He . . ."

"Stop acting like you were picked last for Dodge ball," she spat, shirking out of his hold. "You aren't new to this game - I shouldn't have to explain why Jarod wanted you excluded from the plans. All you need to know, now, is that Jarod was buying me time. Unfortunately, because of that idiot at the prison, the time was lost."

Miss Parker took the steps in rapid succession and headed toward the Porsche parked beside the bungalow.

"Dear God, you were trying to divide and conquer. The guard's call was to alert you that Kelly was out of the way so you could meet with Lyle – about the recordings." When she faltered and glanced at him over her shoulder, he murmured, "But the guard waited too long to call. Jarod is in trouble."

"Good work – you just earned yourself a gold star for the day. Go have a cookie."

"If Lyle already knows the recordings were stolen, this may have been a ploy to gain the upper hand," he warned. "How do you know that the guard wasn't paid to NOT call you?"

"I can guarantee that my brother doesn't know the recordings are missing. If he did, Kelly would be MIA, not locked in a room with Jarod." Pulling the vehicle door open, she leaned against the frame and faced the older man. "Lyle isn't known for subtle attacks. If he knew we had the recordings, we would have heard from him before this and it would have involved a lot of chest thumping."

Peripherally, he saw movement behind the woman and watched briefly over her shoulder as Emily moved toward the family bungalow. His daughter was moving slowly, her attention seemingly focused on him and Miss Parker. Pulling his gaze away from her, he looked back at the brunette and snapped, "What if giving Philip Kelly access to Jarod, one last time, is your brother's way of doing just that?"

Her scowl softened only for a moment as her eyes averted his. When she looked back, though, the mask of annoyance was back in place. "Major, the longer I stand here arguing with you, the longer Jarod is going to be trapped with his phony Freud. Are we through?"

"Not until I know what you're going to do about Lyle. How can you meet with him, if you're headed for the prison?"

Shooting a quick glance at her watch, she shook her head. "I'll call him on my way and arrange a meeting in a couple of hours. The wait will do him good."

"Or it will make him suspicious," he warned. "Unlike you, Lyle may have found competent, dangerous men inside the prison to add to his payroll."

"Don't go there, Major. I told you Jarod is safe. After everything that's happened, don't you dare start questioning my abilities now," she warned. "As long as the disks are in my possession, Lyle knows he has a good chance of being in serious hot water with the Centre. He betrayed them – again. He went against their direct orders – again. And, most of all, because of him, Jarod is in the public eye. For all they know, their empire is about to come crumbling down around them."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working."

"My brother is far from an idiot," she told him. "He knows that if he doesn't back away from Jarod, I will hand the recordings to the Centre. He knows I won't protect him – not from this."

He considered her tone a moment. Though her loyalty to her sons had never been a question, he had to remind himself that she was talking about sentencing her brother – her twin brother – to a hellish existence, possibly even death. Deciding not to question her ability to carry out her threat, the Major took a deep breath and chose a different path.

"Fine, then let me ask you something: How difficult would it be for Lyle to get back into the Centre's graces by handing over my son?" He saw her tense and, immediately, followed up with a second question. "If given a choice between retrieving Jarod – in any condition – and locking him so far under the world the devil himself wouldn't find him, or exacting retribution on Lyle for his crimes against the corporation, can you honestly say the Centre would go after your brother?"

"I told you - Jarod is too hot right now – too public. His face is all over the Internet not to mention the television and print media. They don't want him, at least not until the focus on him dies down."

"You don't know that for sure," he insisted. "We do know, however, that Kelly is with Jarod. Meet with Lyle now before they can regroup – before Lyle has any way of knowing what's going on at the prison."

"If I do that, Jarod will be locked up with Kelly for who knows how long."

"Not if I go to the prison. I am his father. I can make them let me see him. I can . . ."

"Don't you dare even think about it," she hissed, her ringed finger wagging in his direction. "The one thing Jarod has insisted on, from the moment this whole nightmare began, was that you and your family be kept as far away from him as possible. If Lyle or the Centre gets the slightest whiff of where you are, Jarod will be destroyed. Do not leave the confines of this courtyard. You're safe here. Jarod's safe with you here."

"Jarod is far from safe, Miss Parker, and you know it."

Taking a deep breath, she slid into the car and started the engine. "Let me worry about Lyle and Jarod, Major. You worry about the rest of your family."

Before Jarod's father could respond, the Porsche skidded away from the bungalow, throwing crushed shells and dust in its wake. Taking the road with the precision of a professional driver and the frustration of a woman angered by circumstance, Miss Parker took the turn at the end of the courtyard at an excessive speed. The Major sighed but did not look away until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Dad, what's happened? Where is Miss Parker going in such a hurry?"

He forced a smile and looked at the young woman standing beside him. Shaking his head, he said, "It's nothing to be concerned about, Sweetheart. She's just going to do something for Jarod."

Emily frowned. "She's going to do what for Jarod?"

"Something only she can do," he replied cryptically. Then, taking a deep breath, he looked back at his daughter and adopted a less worried stance. "Do me a favor. Tell Adam I need to talk to him."

"Is everything all right?"

He nodded and slid his arm around her shoulders, leading her toward the family bungalow. "It will be. I just need to talk to your brother. If we have any hope of keeping our family together, we need to know everything that happened that night at the beach house and Adam is the only person who can fill in the blanks."

*********

Still trapped in his mind, the Pretender no longer had the image of Philip Kelly standing over him but he also knew that he was not alone. Somehow, he existed in two different realms. Physically, he was still seated in the hard wooden chair of the prison visitor room. However Philip had also managed to transport him to a reality that existed in a darkened chasm of his mind.

"Reveal the memory, Jarod."

The voice was distant, an echo that seemed to vibrate around him. Telling himself it was a hallucination, conjured by the 'special sedative', Jarod licked his lips and carefully slid his thumb over the piece of cardboard in his hand. As the metallic grey substance disappeared, a familiar memory came into focus, as Philip had predicted.

_The darkness that surrounded him was oddly comforting. There was a stillness that could only come in the early hours of a morning that followed a sound sleep. He shifted in the bed, his head swaying gently toward the opening door but, as soon as he did so, the light was obliterated by an exiting form._

"_Sshh… it's okay, Jarod. Go back to sleep. We didn't mean to wake you."_

_His eyes followed the sound of the voice, resting on the thin figure at his right hand side. "Mom, is that you?"_

_She smiled and slid her right hand over his. "Of course it is. Your father stepped out for a moment but he'll be right back. Now go back to sleep. You need your rest."_

_He tried to touch her face, to convince himself she was real, and found that he could not lift his arm from the bed. Frowning, he looked down at his wrists, noticing the restraints for the first time. Suddenly, his chest was heavy. He gasped for air but seemed unable to fill his lungs. His heart began to race. He pulled against the cloth straps. _

"_Jarod, you're safe." There was a sense of urgency in her soft tone but the hold she kept on his hand did not falter. Instead, her left hand rose to the side of his face, cupping it gently as he moved in the bed. "I'm here. No one is going to hurt you."_

_His eyes shifted from the restraints to her face as her hand turned against his cheek, her fingers gently caressing his light beard. "You're safe. You're in the hospital." _

_He shook his head and, though he didn't pull on the restraints it seemed as if his heart wanted to be free of his chest. "No, Lyle will find you. He'll check . . ."_

"_Hush," she whispered. "It's okay. Lyle won't find you. He won't find any of us. We're in California, remember?"_

"_California." He repeated the word thoughtfully then took a deep breath and relaxed against the pillows. "We came to California after the fire. New identities."_

"_That's right," she smiled. Her hand moved from his cheek to his forehead. "We've been here almost a week. Adam and Mr. Broots did a fine job creating the identities and finding a safe place for you to recuperate."_

_He looked down at where her right hand still rested on his. "I have hallucinations."_

"_Your body was going through withdrawal," she told him. "You're better now but insisted that the straps be kept in place at night. It's the only time they seem to haunt you now."_

_He nodded and took a deep breath, his fingers wrapping around hers. "I don't remember anything after the fire."_

"_It's all right. It just means your body is trying to get the rest it needs."_

_He smiled at her simplistic answer but made no attempt to correct her theory. Instead, he asked, "What are you doing here so late? Why aren't you and Dad at home with Emily and Adam?"_

"_Because you need us here," she answered matter-of-factly. "Your father and I have spent every night with you since you were admitted. I told you, the nightmares are worse for you at night – we're not going to leave you alone with them."_

"_But, Emily and Adam need . . ."_

"_Your brother and sister are fine," she promised. "They know you don't want them to see you like this and they're, grudgingly, honoring your wishes. Miss Parker, Sydney and Broots are with them, setting up the new house. They're all safe."_

_Again, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. "And you're here with me?"_

"_That's right," she nodded, squeezing his hand to accentuate her point. "And we're not going anywhere, so I don't want you to waste your energy trying to get rid of us. Is that clear?"_

"_Yes, ma'am," he smiled._

"_Good. Now, do as you were told and go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."_

*********

Ryan entered the police station and, without taking in the surroundings, crossed directly to where Lou was talking with a uniformed officer. Both men glanced at him, as he approached then, with a nod of his head, Lou sent the lower ranked man to a nearby desk and waved for Ryan to follow him into the next room.

"Here's everything I found," he said, pulling a folder from the drawer of his desk. "I'm still searching but, so far, haven't found any connection to the murder victims."

"I'm not so sure you will, but keep checking. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"What, exactly, did you find today?"

Looking up, he frowned at his partner. "What do you mean?"

Lou lowered himself to his desk chair and shook his head. "Don't pull that crap with me. You found out something and, right now, you're trying to either prove or disprove it. I'm not sure which. Spill."

Leaning against the desk, Ryan stared at the file folder of information. After a moment of silence, he looked at his partner and admitted, "I honestly don't know what I'm looking for. All I know is that there is more to these murders than we realized – and if I told you what I'm thinking, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"Not yet," he sighed. "Not until I know what I'm dealing with."

"Would it help if I told you that, since we spoke forty five minutes ago, you've had two phone calls regarding this case?" Lifting the corner of his desk blotter, he retrieved two sheets from a message pad. Handing them to the other man, he said, "The first is from the attorney. She said that she needed to talk with you and would be here after her meeting with Judge Thomas."

"Jarod freaked out in Judge Thomas' courtroom. She's the one who denied his bail."

"I know. Maybe the attorney got her to reconsider."

Ryan frowned. "So, why tell me about it?"

"Who knows?" Meeting his friend's questioning gaze with a hard stare, he added, "Maybe she thinks you're more involved in the case than you're letting on."

Shaking his head, the detective averted his gaze and stared at the two messages. It was no secret that he had believed there was something odd about this case from the beginning, but he had never dreamed the investigation would get so twisted that he would purposely fail to report his findings. Every time he discovered something new – such as Philip Kelly's pilfered recordings or the Centre disks that recorded Jarod's childhood – it was so bizarre he couldn't help but think that he was missing a vital piece of information – something that would make sense of everything.

"The second message was from a kid who wouldn't leave his name," Lou said after almost a full minute of silence. "Again, he said he needed to talk to you about Jarod. He said he was on his way."

"You're sure it was a kid?"

"No question about it. Now, do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Releasing a heavy sigh, Ryan looked at his friend. "Unless I'm completely misreading this thing – the kid who called is Jarod's brother. I always suspected he was at the beach house that night but I, until today, I had no one who would actually put him there. My guess is that he's coming here to come clean; at least I hope that's why he's coming here."

"I thought Jarod and his family denied the kid was anywhere near the beach that night."

He nodded and rose from the desk. "They did but Jillian Kincade says different and, it's not what you're thinking. She isn't identifying Adam as one of her assailants. In fact, it's just the opposite. She's claiming that the kid was as much of a victim as she was and that Jarod was trying to protect them both."

Lou scowled and, moving from the desk, stepped beside his friend and lowered his voice. "What are you saying? Are you saying someone was threatening the kid in order to get Jarod to kill the woman?"

"It looks that way."

"Well, why the hell wouldn't the family tell us that?" he growled. "Why keep the secret? Why let Jarod go to jail and what does this corporation in Delaware have to do with anything?"

"All very good questions," Ryan sighed. "I just don't have all the answers and the ones I do don't make a bit of sense."

"Well, maybe they will soon. Your first visitor has arrived."

*********

Philip smiled at the stillness of his charge. The muscles in his arms, shoulders and back were taut – like a boxer ready for the next round of a fight. His face, however, told a different story. The expression was slack, unsure and, he thought, timid about continuing.

"Is that the way you remember that night, Jarod?" he asked. "Do you remember waking to find your mother by your side, pledging not to leave you alone?"

The Pretender nodded, his eyes still trained on the cardboard square in his hand.

"Good. Now, I want you to dig a little deeper, Jarod. Let's see if the memory you've believed to be true is actually real, shall we?"

_The darkness that surrounded him was thick and, other than his own breaths, the only sound in the room was the soft whir of the machine beside the bed. He flexed his hand, felt the pinch of an IV and, though he knew it was futile, strained to see the labels on the three clear bags that hung from the metal stand. All he could see was that a single tube ran from each bag and, after converging somewhere inside the machine, emptied into the port embedded in his hand. _

_He shifted in the bed, his head heavily rocking toward the light slicing through the opening door. As soon as he did so, though, the beam was obliterated by an entering form._

"_Hello, Jarod. Did I wake you?"_

_His eyes followed the sound of the deep voice as it neared the bed, unable to identify his visitor. When the man stepped to the machine and began inspecting the tubes, Jarod asked, "Who are you?"_

"_I'm not surprised that you don't remember me," he chuckled, lowering himself to the edge of the bed. "You have been heavily sedated every evening since you were admitted. But, I have visited with you before."_

_When the man reached out to touch his face, Jarod tried to block the move and found that he could not lift his arm from the bed. Looking down, he noticed the restraints around his wrists for the first time. He tried to move his legs and felt the cloth straps holding his ankles against the mattress. Suddenly, his chest was heavy. He gasped for air but seemed unable to fill his lungs. His heart began to race. He pulled against the padded cuff, stretching out for the call button dangling from the side of the bed. Almost immediately, his visitor moved the device out of his reach.. _

"_Relax, Jarod, you're safe. I am here to help you." Ignoring the Pretender's attempt to pull away, he slid his hand to the man's face. "No one is going to hurt you. You're in the hospital. My name is Doctor Kelly."_

_His eyes shifted from the restraints to the man's shadowed features as the hand turned against his cheek and began gently caressing his light beard. Though he didn't pull on the restraints it seemed as if his heart wanted to be free of his chest. "You're a doctor?"_

"_I'm your doctor, Jarod," he whispered. "We've been meeting every night since you arrived in California."_

"_California." He repeated the word thoughtfully then looked back at the man. "We came to California after the fire."_

"_That's right," he smiled. His hand moved from Jarod's cheek to his forehead. "You have been here almost a week. I was contracted to help you with your nightmares."_

"_I have hallucinations," he murmured._

"_That's right. Your body was going through withdrawal," he said, one hand dropping to undo the buttons of Jarod's pajamas. "You're better now but we decided that the straps be kept in place at night."_

"_When you visit," the Pretender finished darkly._

_He smiled and slid the fabric of the pajama top to the side, exposing the Pretender's chest. "It makes your therapy easier."_

"_What kind of therapy do I need from you?" he hissed, closing his eyes as the hand slid down the middle of his body. "Who are you?"_

"_Your family hired me to help you get well. That's all you need to know."_

_Swallowing hard, Jarod tensed as the man's fingers slipped under the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms. "Stop, please."_

"_I have explained all this to you before, my boy. It is important for your well-being that you become accustomed to my touch." Leaving Jarod fully exposed on the bed, the doctor retrieved a syringe from the pocket of his jacket. After filling it completely, he looked down at Jarod. Sliding one hand over the Pretender's mouth he whispered, "This will make it easier for us to continue. I promise." _

_Held in place by the restraints and muzzled by the hand, Jarod's struggles were ineffective. He watched as the needle slid into the port in his hand and let out a soft moan as the drug entered his body._

"_Why are you doing this?" he managed, when the doctor moved back to the bed. "Why are you here?"_

"_Because you need me," he answered matter-of-factly. "Your parents have no idea how to help you and, besides, they have your brother and sister to worry about. They don't have time to care for you, too, so I have spent almost every night with you since you were admitted."_

_Leaning forward, the doctor placed his hands on Jarod's shoulders and began a gentle massage. "Your brother and sister are fine. Everyone is safe, as long as you are here with me and I am not going anywhere, Jarod. I don't want you to waste your energy fighting me. Is that clear?" _

_The warm glow of the drug seemed to follow the doctor's touch as it moved, simultaneously draining the Pretender of his strength. The fingers pinched and pressed against his chest muscles then carefully stroked the hairs. They squeezed and rubbed his abdomen and legs, then gently cupped his genitals. His vision blurred and his breaths seemed heavy. Words, even those of denial, became difficult to find and questions impossible to formulate. In spite of himself, Jarod felt himself nod in agreement._

"_Good, now, concentrate on the warmth of my touch, Jarod. When we are done tonight, you will find that you trust me completely."_

*********

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

Note: to those of you still reading this story - thanks for your patience - as always, sorry about the long time between chapter posts. Lisa

Disclaimer in part 1

Survival II – Retribution

By imagine

Chapter 28/?

"_Good, now, concentrate on the warmth of my touch, Jarod. When we are done tonight, you will find that you trust me completely."_

The warm sensation that had seemingly begun to flow through his veins faded and, as it did, Jarod found himself more aware of his surroundings. He was not in the hospital. He was not bound to a bed by the wrists and ankles. The images of Philip smiling down on him, touching him, promising him comfort in exchange for obedience grew faint but refused to disappear completely, leaving the Pretender conflicted.

"Both versions of that night cannot be true, can they?"

Startled, Jarod looked up at the man but could not find his voice, or the strength, to respond. He wanted to believe that the memory of his mother sitting by his hospital bed, promising that she and his father would stay by his side was the truth and the images of Philip were false. Unfortunately, he couldn't prove or disprove either memory. He didn't know what frightened him more: the fact that Philip Kelley could be telling him the truth; or the fact that he couldn't find the resolve to trust his own mind.

Philip looked at his charge and smiled. "You know that I was the one who visited you every night, Jarod."

The Pretender dropped his gaze and, almost immediately, felt the doctor's hand slide to his shoulders. Though his initial reaction was to stiffen at the contact, the gentle strokes that followed elicited a darkly familiar response. Just as in the memory he wanted to deny, a warm sensation grew in the wake of the other man's touch.

"Your parents abandoned you at the hospital, Jarod, just as they have abandoned you now," he murmured. "I am your constant, your comfort. I am the only person you can trust."

Closing his eyes as the hands moved across his back and down his spine the Pretender shook his head and whispered, "No."

"Both versions of that night cannot be true," Philip repeated, continuing the tender massage. "In your heart, you know that it was me who sat at your bedside, Jarod. It was me who helped you recuperate. You waited for me, every night, anxious for our session to begin. It was me who sat at your bedside, Jarod, no one else but me."

Though the doctor could not see it from where he stood, as the words were spoken, the muscles in Jarod's jaw clenched and his lips flattened into a thin dark line.

*********

Leaning against the hood of his own vehicle, he glanced at his watch then turned a cold stare at the complex of buildings across from him. Somewhere inside the largest of these structures, beyond the armed guard tower and the electronic doors, was a man who was playing with fire. Philip Kelly was testing his patience, trying to play him for a fool and, above all, digging his own grave. Their appointment had been for noon and the doctor was now officially three hours late in handing over the recordings.

If his contacts inside the prison were correct, upon his arrival, Philip Kelly had met with the warden. The result of that meeting was that Blue Cove's answer to Dr. Mengele had been granted full access to Jarod. Regardless of his annoyance at being kept waiting, however, Lyle smiled each time he thought of how the doctor and the Pretender might be spending their time. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

After giving his contact explicit instructions to notify him if Philip's session ended prior to his return, Lyle had driven to the cabin and searched it thoroughly. Not finding any trace of the recordings should have reassured him. It should have given more weight to the doctor's claim that they were somewhere offsite for safekeeping. Instead, it made Lyle more suspicious. Retrieving his phone from the pocket of his jacket, he hit the speed dial, his eyes never leaving the entrance to the main building.

"It's been three hours."

"Actually, it's been three and a half," the man corrected. "Evidently he has permission from the warden to conduct an all day session, if necessary."

"He may have permission from the Warden," Lyle growled, "but he doesn't have permission from me. If he doesn't show his face in fifteen minutes, I want you to interrupt him. Get him out of that room and then don't let him back in until he calls me. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good."

*********

"Do your parents know you're here?"

"No," he admitted then, reaching out, grabbed the other man's arm. "But, before you call them, we need to talk. It's important. It's about Jarod. I came to make everything right."

"And, when you say you can make it right, Adam, does that mean you're going to tell me about the beach house?" Ryan dared. "Jillian told me you were there and that Jarod was trying to protect you both."

"Jarod is always protecting, or trying to protect, someone."

"Maybe, but it's been my experience that when family is involved, people are generally more determined."

Adam took a deep breath, but said nothing.

"Look, you and I both know you shouldn't be here," Ryan said, using a much gentler tone as he slid his hand to the boy's shoulder. "Your parents are probably worried sick. Let me take you back to the bungalows. On the way, you can fill in the gaps for me."

The young man pulled from the touch but did not step away. Instead, he looked the Detective straight in the eye and told him, "I will call my parents after you hear what I have to say."

After a slight hesitation, Ryan shook his head. "That doesn't work for me. You're a minor. I can't legally question you about anything without parental approval."

The boy's laugh was immediate but the disapproving glare he received from the Detective made him bring it under control quickly. "You're serious."

"Either you call them, or I will. Take your pick."

"But you won't be _questioning_ me; I'll be _telling _you."

"Not without parental approval," he repeated.

*********

It was in her nature to be in control and doing so meant being aware of her surroundings. As she headed toward the prison, her eyes darted at the open spaces between cars parked in her path as well as those that flanked her. She spotted him when she reached the gate that separated the parking lot from the walk that led to the entrance. Considering Kelley was inside, it was not a complete surprise to find Lyle waiting for him; but, it wasn't something she had expected. Smiling to herself, and accepting the situation without questioning if it was coincidence, luck or fate, she moved toward him, her jaw tightening with each step.

Leaning against the car, his hands were casually hidden deep inside the pockets of his slacks. Though his jacket was open and no firearm was visible, she knew there was a holster at the small of his back and probably one attached to his ankle, as well. There was a slight but dangerous smile on his face, but it was the fact that his eyes seemed to be dancing as they watched her approach that made her skin crawl.

"I know what you've been doing," she said simply. "Back off, Lyle, or, so help me, you will be sorry."

"Well, hello to you, too, Sis." When she crossed her arms over her chest, his right eyebrow arched higher than the left, he sighed and slowly pushed away from the car. "Exactly what is it that you think I'm responsible for, this time?"

"I want you, and your little dog Philip, to stay away from Jarod and his family. Let him go."

He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her stance. "You know I can't do that, Parker. Jarod owes me and I intend to collect."

"You held him prisoner for months, drugged him, molested him, threatened his family, and are now doing your best to twist his mind into a pretzel. He's in jail for something we both know you did and he's not fighting to get out. How the hell does he owe _you_, Lyle?"

Suddenly the man's playfulness disappeared. "He betrayed me. He ran. He let the Centre believe I killed him. Because of Jarod, they sent me to Africa. Do you have any idea the things they did to me? You, of all people, should understand how much Jarod owes me, Parker. It's time he repaid the debt."

"Exactly how is Jarod going to settle up with you, if you destroy his mind? That's what you're doing, you know. The drugs, the sessions with Kelley, the lapses in memory – it's all too much. At the rate you're going, in a few days, he won't _be_ Jarod anymore."

"Maybe that's the point."

She stared at him, her mind spinning with the things he'd said while she took in both his facial expressions and body language. Lyle was tense. His eyes were hard. His voice was rough and angry. The man she knew as her brother – the one who could charm a snake while cutting it in half – had lost his mask and was now showing his true self.

"Okay, let me try saying this differently," she hissed. Refusing to be intimidated, Miss Parker stepped closer to her brother, stopping when they were less than an inch apart. "Back off, so help me, I will make sure the Centre gets all the evidence they need to lock you away forever. Understood?"

He laughed and, just as quickly as it had disappeared, Lyle's charismatic persona was back in place. "Nice bluff, but there is no evidence connecting me to Jarod's current predicament and you know it."

Her smile was intentionally slow and, as it grew, she watched his fade. "Talk to your partner in crime, Lyle. Ask him to see the recordings of his sessions with Jarod and, when he can't produce them, give me a call. Because we're family, I'm willing to deal but it's a limited time offer. You have three hours, Lyle, not a minute more."

"And, then what?" he dared.

"And then I turn over what I have to people who will make your life miserable," she replied.

Lyle's smirk reappeared in the split second before he shook his head. "I don't think so, Parker. I don't think you would actively choose to betray me."

"Then you would be wrong."

"I know you, Parker," he taunted. "You might let Jarod set me up or take his side against me; but you would never actively participate in my death – and that is exactly what you would be doing if you turned over any of Kelley's recordings to the Centre. Do you really think you could live with that on your conscience? After all, as you said, we're family – I'm your twin."

Turning on her heel, she moved toward the prison entrance. "Three hours, Lyle, not a minute more."

*********

The moment he disconnected the call Adam saw the Detective's nod of approval. He had half expected a question, or an 'I told you they were worried', but, instead, Ryan turned and moved into the small interrogation room knowing he would follow. Once inside, Adam took a seat at the table, keeping his back to the mirror.

"When did you see Jillian?" he asked, when the Detective was seated.

"I went to the hospital this morning. She's pretty confused about a lot of things; but she was insistent about the fact that Jarod told her you were at the beach house that day."

"That's because I was."

Ryan glared at the boy. "When were you planning on sharing that fact with me?"

"Well, I'm not here because I needed directions to the beach," he snapped. Running his fingers through his hair he leaned back in the chair. "Look, I know that Miss Parker told you a little about Jarod's childhood at the Centre and his time with Lyle last year but there's more. You need to know everything if there is any hope of you understanding what has been happening."

"So tell me."

"It's not an easy story to tell. It's . . . complicated." When the Detective shrugged and dropped himself into a nearby chair to wait for an explanation, Adam took a deep breath and said, "For starters, Detective, I am not Jarod's brother."

*********

Philip slid a new card into the man's hand. "You know the deal. It's time for memory number two to be revealed. When we are done, you will understand all that I have done for you, Jarod."

Dropping his gaze to the card, Jarod swallowed hard. After a moment of hesitation, he used his thumb to slowly rub away the silver coating.

_Without reducing his speed, he maneuvered the mountain bike off the path and into a field of tall grass. The field gave way to a dirt path, leading him beneath a canopy of trees and he slowed his pace. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he let the bike coast to a stop, filling his lungs with the slightly cooler breeze of the nearby creek while he scanned his surroundings critically. Except for the trickling water, chirping sparrows, and his heartbeat, it was quiet._

_Laying the bike on the ground, he retrieved a fresh bottle of water from the pouch on the back of the seat and moved through the trees. Once he reached the rocky bank, he trained his eyes at the terrain on the opposite bank and smiled. It was only a few miles to the highest point of the trail. From there, he would be able to see the valley and, if the conditions were right, the ocean. _

_Glancing at his watch, he lowered himself to a soft piece of grass and took another long drink from the water bottle. Whether it was the ride, the stress of Adam's disappearance, the return of Miss Parker, or a combination of all three, he didn't know; but suddenly, he was exhausted. Stretching out on his side, he kept his gaze on the path beyond the creek and lowered his head to his arm. Slowly, his eyes began to close._

The man grinned and gently petted the beads of sweat from the Pretender's forehead into his hair. "Do you remember sitting by the stream and falling asleep?"

"I'm not sure," he murmured. "I remember going for a bike ride. I remember that I was tired."

"Of course you do. Now, scratch off the next layer coating the card, Jarod."

"_Does he know I'm here?"_

"_On the most basic of levels, yes; however, Jarod won't react unless I tell him to."_

"_Really?"_

_With only a quick, evil grin as warning, Lyle struck Jarod across the face with the back of his hand. Like a rubber doll, his head snapped to the left and then slowly came back to center as the sting of the blow began to fade. Almost immediately, he was viciously pulled to his back by the hair. Lyle leaned over him, placing his knee at the center of his chest, and pressed his hand over his mouth and nose. Pinned by Lyle's weight to the sofa, he stared blankly at the man depriving him of oxygen._

"_Tell him not to struggle."_

"_I don't have to," Philip answered. "Jarod does not view you as a threat. I thought that was obvious by his lack of reaction when he saw you."_

"_Nothing is obvious, when it comes to Jarod."_

_Their eyes locked and a small smile appeared on Lyle's face as Jarod felt more pressure on his mouth and nose. He heard Philip yell and saw him grab Lyle's arm; but Parker's twin easily pushed the doctor away. Just as Jarod felt his muscles become slack and darkness begin to envelop him, Lyle finally stepped away. In an instant, Philip was at his side, pulling him into a sitting position, holding him tightly as he gasped and coughed and tried to refill his lungs. _

"_Take it slow, Jarod. That's it, nice slow breaths. Very good, my boy," he murmured. Then, without sliding his arm from Jarod's back, he adopted an angry tone and glared at Lyle. "What are you thinking? You could have killed him."_

The images had barely faded when Philip slid his hand beneath Jarod's chin and forced the man to meet his gaze. "I saved your life that afternoon, Jarod. I protected you, just as I always have. I protected you from the memory of Lyle's attack, as well as from Lyle himself. You owe me."

Jarod pulled away from the grip. Though his hands were trembling, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

"I imagine it is very painful for you to regain these memories so abruptly but it had to be done," the doctor insisted calmly. "I have done my best to shield you, Jarod. I do not want to cause you any more pain than necessary. Tell me you understand."

With his face still buried in his hand, the Pretender nodded and murmured, "I understand."

"Good boy, Jarod. Now, tell me where Miss Parker has hidden my recordings."

The Pretender stiffened at the command and, after slowly dropping his hands to his lap, looked up at the doctor. "I told you, I . . . don't know where they are."

"Then run the simulation."

"I – I cannot run a simulation on Miss Parker."

Philip glanced at his watch then crouched beside the prisoner. "The sedative should be working by now. The look in your eyes tells me that your headache must be excruciating. You're trembling and perspiring, so it's obvious that the chills have begun, as well. I can only assume that the muscles in your legs and arms are starting to feel the effects of the drug. Have the spasms started yet?"

Wrapping his arms around the trunk of his body, Jarod closed his eyes and nodded.

"You always hated this part of your training," the man sighed. His eyes dancing across the Pretender's pained features, he stroked the man's cheek with the back of his hand. "And I always hated seeing you in such agony, but we both know it was necessary. You are such a stubborn man that it was always the only way to deter you from disobeying me. It was the only method that ever worked."

Jarod tightened the hold on himself, let out a soft moan, and turned to look at the doctor, but said nothing.

"Ahh – I forgot about the shortness of breath. You once described it as trying to breathe under water through a straw. I think that was the part you hated the most," he cooed, once again wiping the sweat from his prisoner's brow. "I do hate that you force me to do this to you. Just run the simulation, Jarod. Once you do as you were instructed, I can take the pain away almost immediately."

"I cannot . . . run a simulation on . . . Miss Parker," he whispered hoarsely. "It is not allowed."

"Why do you insist on repeating those words, Jarod?" Angry, the doctor stood and crossed his arms as he stared down at his prisoner. "Tell me why Miss Parker is exempt from being the subject of a simulation."

"She is . . . She is the Chairman's daughter."

He watched as the Pretender anxiously slid his hands between his legs, then changed his mind and folded them over his chest, looking for a position to ease his discomfort. "And who told you never to run a simulation on her? Was it her father?"

Jarod licked his lips as he shook his head.

"Was it Sydney?"

Keeping his eyes lowered, and focused on the back of his own hands, which were now in his lap, he shook his head again. His gaze rose to the doctor only when he felt a hand beneath his chin.

"I have learned much about you, Jarod. I can tell when you are confused, when you are frightened, and when you are protecting someone. Most importantly, though, I learned to tell when you are lying." Philip smiled slightly when the Pretender made a weak attempt to pull from his hold. "No one gave you any such order, did they? It is not that you _**cannot**_ run the simulation, it is that you _**will not**_ run it."

For a brief moment, the Pretender became eerily still. His eyes narrowed and tilted his head in such a way that a shadow of a smile seemed to appear. Philip glared at the man then, frustrated by the lack of response, struck Jarod across the face.

"Why do you insist on forcing me punish you?" he demanded. "It is causes unnecessary stress for both of us. All I want is what legally belongs to me. Tell me where the recordings are, and we can conclude this session. I can relieve your pain. I can even make you forget any of this happened. You can go back to your cell. You can rest."

Jarod wiped his lip with the side of his still shaky hand and stared at the drop of blood that was smeared across his finger. Aware that the doctor was now pacing in front of him, he let his hand drop back to his lap but said nothing.

"Do you enjoy being punished? Do you enjoy being in pain? It's almost as if you want me to . . ." Suddenly, Philip came to a halt in front of the Pretender. He stared at the man for a long moment, watching as Jarod curled his hands inside the long sleeves of his shirt. "That's what this is all about. You are purposely defying me so that I will return pieces of your memories as punishment."

Looking up, Jarod met the man's gaze with a dark one of his own and replied, "They belong to me."

"Actually, I am the only one who can access them," the man taunted, "so, they belong to me. I can return them to you, or alter them as easily as I can destroy them. So, I suggest you cooperate."

Jarod turned his head, shifting his focus from Philip to a blank spot on the wall. Seconds later, he closed his eyes, silently willing the man to leave him alone. His body ached, his eyes were beginning to blur and his lungs hurt except during the shallowest of breaths.

"I won't run a simulation on Parker . . . or anyone else I care about."

Philip laughed and moved behind the Pretender. "I have to admit, it is a very noble sentiment. Sadly, Jarod, you are not in a position to take such a stance, because I have not given you permission to do so. You will run a simulation on anyone, and everyone, I tell you to."

Jarod shifted in the chair, leaning forward slightly in the hopes of putting distance between himself and the doctor. When he felt the man's hands on his shoulders, he squeezed his eyelids tighter and increased the tension in both his fists as he pulled his hands closer to his body. He didn't want to be goaded into performing the simulation but, in his present state, the odds were slim that he would be able to resist the order for long.

"If you're going to destroy the memories entirely, then stop talking about it and do it already," he managed, forcing a tone that was much stronger than he felt. "But, if you do, the next time you see those recordings will be when they are played for the Triumvirate at your hearing."

He felt the doctor's hands slide away from his shoulders. The light in the room was beginning to aggravate the throb of his headache but Jarod opened his eyes as far as he could tolerate and peered at the other man. Philip kept his back to him, silently considering the threat and his options for more than a minute before pivoting in place to face his captive. Though he couldn't be sure, Jarod decided that the lurch in his gut was due to the doctor's wide grin rather than the drug that was attacking his system.

"Your argument has merit," the man clucked. "Restoring your memories may be in the best interest of all involved; but, on the other hand, it might be better to give you another injection of the sedative. The memory of your reaction to the last, and only other, time you were given a double dose should still be intact. Am I correct?"

Jarod swallowed hard and nodded, suppressing a shiver as he did so.

"If I recall, you were rendered blind for several hours, and the spasms in your legs became so violent that you could not stand – even with assistance. I imagine that a disability such as that, now, could be extremely detrimental to your well-being especially since you've already had altercations with two fellow inmates – a John Owens and a Frank Birch. I assure you, they would not hesitate to take advantage if you were incapacitated. In fact, in addition to causing you more pain, they might exact retribution on the young man you've been protecting. What is his name?"

"Kyle," he whispered hoarsely.

"That's right – Kyle. You had a brother by that name, didn't you?"

The Pretender glared at the psychiatrist and nodded.

"That explains your feelings of protectiveness. After all, you were not able to help your brother, were you?" Philip slipped his arm around the man's shoulders. Involuntarily, the Pretender released a soft mew of anticipation. "I do not want to see you in more pain than necessary, my boy. I never want to hurt you. I want to protect you in much the same way you want to protect those you care about so I need to consider my options carefully."

Jarod swallowed hard, tensing and closing his eyes as the other man's hands began a deep massage of his shoulders.

"Since you are so eager to have your memories returned, I will honor your wishes and return one more. Your reaction will determine my course of action. If you still refuse to run the simulation, I will either punish your disrespectfulness with another injection, or bring our relationship to an end and destroy your memories completely." Abruptly straightening his stance, Philip moved in front of the Pretender. His fingers swept the hair from Jarod's forehead and, after a gentle caress of the man's face, whispered, "Remember, my dear boy, whatever happens next is up to you."

*********

"I have no idea who actually gave birth to me, but she was not my mother."

Ryan frowned, but said nothing, waiting patiently for the boy to continue.

"I wasn't conceived so much as I was _created_, Detective. I am Jarod's clone."

A week ago, he was sure the words would have generated an almost comical reaction. He would have been incredulous. He would have accused the boy of wasting his time, and threatened to charge him with some infraction that would have had no legal foundation. However, a week ago, he didn't know about the Centre; he hadn't met Lyle, Jarod or Miss Parker and he hadn't seen the DSA's or the recordings from Philip's cabin. So, instead of voicing skepticism, Ryan nodded thoughtfully at the boy's admission.

"Jarod is a natural pretender; which means the Centre had to do little training, spend very little revenue, for him to be profitable. He was a corporation's dream. So, when Mr. Raines received permission to attempt to duplicate the human genome, Jarod's DNA was chosen for the prototype. It took almost ten years before the project was successful and, when I was born, Mr. Raines petitioned to continue as my handler. He told the Triumvirate that he could gain better results than Sydney had with Jarod," he said, adding bitterly, "Raines claimed that the Centre never tapped into Jarod's true potential because he had been coddled – a mistake he made a point of not making with me."

Ryan swallowed his rising anger and, in an almost too soft voice, asked, "What did they do to you?"

Adam shook his head solemnly. "It isn't important. It won't help Jarod. I came here to help Jarod."

"Maybe, but Jarod isn't the only person_ I_ want to help."

The young man stared at Ryan for a long moment then smiled slightly. "I appreciate that, Detective. Really. But there is honestly nothing to tell. You saw the DSA's. Jarod and I had similar lives."

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The DSAs he'd viewed had been a cross section of Jarod at various ages. They'd shown the way Jarod had dealt with loneliness, simulations and nightmares, but had not shown any actual abuse – physical or otherwise - until Jarod was an adult. Everything inside of him screamed that, despite Adam's claim to the contrary, his life had been much different than his brother's.

"For the record, I don't believe you," he said moving beside the boy, "but I will not push you into telling me anything you are not comfortable revealing."

Nodding his thanks, Adam stood and moved to the opposite side of the table. He stared over Ryan's shoulder, at his own reflection, and then abruptly turned his back on both the man and the two-way mirror.

"Besides, I can't blame them for what's happened." His voice cracked mid-sentence. Clearing his throat, he started again. "As much as I would like to, I can't blame the Centre because most of it was my fault."

"You were a child, Adam. They were supposed to protect and take care of you. _You_ didn't do anything wrong."

"That's not what I meant. You don't understand. I'm not explaining it right." Wiping his face, he returned to his chair but did not sit. Instead, he stood behind it, his hands tightly gripping the back. "Between the time I was rescued and the time I realized that I had been … mistreated at the Centre, I set all of this into motion. You and I are standing here, having this conversation, because I was an insecure child who didn't understand the concept of family."

"You are not responsible . . ."

"Yes, I am! You have to listen to what I am telling you. Please. It's important." Taking a deep breath, gripped the chair tighter and gained control of his voice. "In the process of rescuing me, Jarod was captured by the Centre and, for all purposes, the Major became _my_ father. He held me when I got scared. He talked to me, not at me, when I was confused or angry. I had never had anyone treat me the way he did and, though I liked it, his actions made me suspicious. I thought he wanted something from me but I couldn't figure out what it was so, when he encouraged me to create an identity of my own, I put him off. I would always be Gemini because that was who Mr. Raines had said I was; it was who I had always been."

"Gemini?"

Looking up, he nodded. "Gemini is – was - my project name. The Centre and Lyle use it when referring to me. I didn't start using the name 'Adam' until after I met Emily; so it's only been about a year."

"Gemini is the zodiac sign of the twins."

"The Centre is nothing if not clever about their project names."

His thoughts revolving around Jillian's words, Ryan took a step back and dropped his eyes as he recalled the words Jillian had said to him. _"Do you know when Jarod's birthday is? Or his brother's? I thought someone said something about the zodiac sign – Gemini." _

"I know I'm throwing a lot at you but, I promise, I am not making this up. You have to believe me."

Startled, Ryan looked back and silently chided himself for not realizing how his actions had appeared to the younger man. "I do believe you, Adam. I believe everything you've told me except the part about it all being your fault. From what I was told, Miss Parker was shot and Jarod was captured by the Centre because he stayed behind to help her. You couldn't have prevented that, even if you'd tried."

"Yeah, well, you haven't heard the whole story, yet," he said softly. "Jarod escaped the Centre after a few months. As soon as the Major found out, everything we did or said was about finding Jarod and making plans to keep him safe."

"He was afraid of losing his son again."

"And, I understood he was afraid; but so was I," he sighed. "I was still unsure about the Major's motives for keeping me around but, at the same time, I was afraid of losing him. I had never thought of my life at the Centre as being bad; but life on the outside was definitely better and I didn't want to be the one who had to give it up. So I made a deal with Lyle. I just wanted to stay with the Major and I didn't believe that would happen if Jarod was in the picture. I have _**never**_ wanted Jarod to be hurt."

"I believe you," Ryan admitted. "But, it's time you let yourself off the hook. You are not to blame for what's happening now."

Frustrated, Adam pushed the chair toward the table with such force that it tipped to the side. "Then you're not listening. Jarod became Lyle's prisoner because I gave him up."

"I heard every word," Ryan replied calmly, watching as the young man righted the chair. "Yes, you betrayed Jarod in the worst way _– last year_. But I was told he could have escaped at any time. He stayed with Lyle to protect Emily; just like he stayed with Miss Parker when she was shot. Jarod made a choice."

"And, this time around, he's making a choice to obey Lyle and Kelley because they came after _me_," Adam snapped, tears forming in his eyes. "You have no idea how many times he's been hurt because of me and I can't let it happen – not again."

"I see. So, is that why you're here now? To ease a guilty conscience and make things right with Jarod?"

"Jarod has been killing himself – literally – to keep our family safe from the Centre and our secrets safe from the rest of the world. It's time for _**him**_ to be safe and I need help to make it happen."

"That means you're going to give me _all_ the pieces to this damned puzzle," he pointed out. "If you hold anything back, then we're both just wasting time. I need to know what I'm dealing with."

Retrieving his backpack from the floor, Adam slid his laptop on to the table and smiled at the man. "I'm not only going to tell you everything, Detective, I'm going to show you a few things."

*********

_He stood in the shadows, enveloped in a cold calm he did not question. She slept peacefully, taking deep and regular breaths until music from the clock radio woke her with a start. After burying her head in the pillow for an extra moment, she stretched languidly then rolled from the mattress._

_Unseen, he slid behind the door of the spare room._

_She began her day cheerfully, humming softly to the song on the radio as she continued into the bathroom. Soon, he heard running water and a second radio belting out the same station as the one in the bedroom. When she emerged from the smaller room, her head bobbed in time with the music and, though she did not make a sound, she energetically mouthed the words of the song._

_After pulling on a pair of gray jogging shorts and a white spandex shirt that accentuated her tan, muscular form, she sat on the bed. When she leaned forward to tie the laces of her running shoes, her red hair cascaded carelessly over her face. Without a thought, the woman gathered the long locks and fashioned them into a loose ponytail as she stood and moved into the hall, still oblivious to his presence._

*********

Miss Parker was arguing with the senior guard, insisting on being admitted into the room that held Jarod and Philip, when they heard the yell. Instinctively, she reached for her gun but, having relinquished the firearm to security, she found an empty holster. Despite being unarmed, Miss Parker followed the guards into the room just as a loud crash echoed through the air.

Glancing at the uniformed men as they drew their weapons, she moved between them and the Pretender. Wrapping her arm around his, she said, "Jarod, let him go."

He was trembling and, yet, he seemed as strong as ever until she saw his eyes. Slowly, his gaze shifted from the man he had pinned to the wall and the dark orbs were bloodshot and glassy. His face was bathed in sweat and his chest was heaving at an alarming pace. Stepping closer, making it impossible for the guards to have a clear shot, she whispered, "It's okay, Jarod. You can let him go. You have to let him go."

Philip was gasping for air, his eyes were wide and his hands were pushing at the arm pressed against his throat. Jarod stared at him for a long moment, seemingly oblivious to everyone else except Parker. "He won't show me the rest."

She frowned at his words as much as his eroded voice. Carefully placing one hand on the arm that held Philip Kelley against the wall, she slid the other across Jarod's back. "It doesn't matter, Jarod. He doesn't matter."

"It does!" he insisted, pushing his arm against the man's throat. "I need to know what happened next. I need to know what I did."

Though his ragged words made sense, in an abstract way, and she felt her anger toward the doctor flare, Miss Parker managed to keep her own words soft and reassuring. "Jar, you don't need him. We will find out what happened next. _**You and I**_ will find out what happened next. I promise. Now, let him go before someone else gets hurt. Please."

He thought about her words then took a deep breath. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"I know and neither do I," she promised, rubbing his back. "Please. Let him go."

Jarod hesitated then slowly loosened his hold on Philip. Immediately, the doctor took advantage. Pushing the younger man away he escaped to the far side of the room, stopping behind a large guard, as Jarod collapsed to the floor. Though Miss Parker was still holding the trembling man, two prison guards approached and pushed Jarod forward, on to his knees.

"You are not handcuffing him!"

"He attacked his therapist. He's dangerous."

"Look at him!" Kneeling beside Jarod, she supported his weight while grabbing the wrist of the man who was forcing his hands behind his back. "He can barely keep himself upright. Trust me – right now, I am more of a threat than he is!"

"We have protocol to follow."

"I don't give a damn. Can't you see he's physically ill?" she growled. "I don't know what the hell happened in here but, he was fine less than 24 hours ago. Whatever happened to him happened on your watch and now he needs help."

Frowning, the guard released Jarod's wrists then turned to the men who flanked him. "She's right. Something is definitely wrong here. Get a gurney and tell the infirmary we're bringing in a prisoner."

Parker released the breath she was holding and slid into a sitting position on the floor. Jarod stirred in her arms, his eyes focusing on her face for a moment before shifting his attention to the others in the room. His confusion was evident as his gaze moved from face to face, but she didn't question him. He was struggling to piece the events together.

When his face darkened, and his gaze fell on Philip Kelley, she slipped her hand in his. Almost immediately, the Pretender reacted, squeezing it tightly as he watched the doctor confer with one of the guards.

"He left the door open," he murmured. "If he has a chance, he'll close it. He'll destroy it and I'll never be able to get in again. I'll lose everything."

Her eyes darting between the Pretender and the psychiatrist, Miss Parker asked, "What door? Jarod, what are you talking about?"

He was silent, keeping his hand nestled in hers and his eyes trained on the doctor, until a gurney was wheeled into the room. Finally facing the woman, he murmured, "Don't leave him alone with me, Parker, or I'll never find out what happened next."

*********

The knock on the door was simultaneous with it swinging inward. Both Ryan and Adam shifted their attention from the computer screen to the man standing at the threshold.

"Cara DeWitt is here."

Ryan sighed. "She didn't happen to mention what she wants to talk to me about, did she?"

"Not a clue, Pal. Sorry."

"All right, thanks. I'll be out in a minute." Once his partner was gone, Ryan faced Adam. "I don't know how long this is going to take; but I'll be back as soon as I can."

The young man nodded. As soon as the Detective left the room, he rose from the table and moved to the door. Opening it slightly, he peered into the hall then quietly followed. From the edge of the hall, he watched as Ryan and Cara DeWitt shook hands and began their conversation.

Adam had the ability to read lips. Unlike Jarod, who didn't learn until he'd left the Centre, he'd been taught while still inside and had utilized the skill on several simulations for Mr. Raines. He was situated in such a way that he had a clear view of the Detective and the lawyer. However, because of the distance, and the fact the woman turned her head away several times while speaking, Adam could only capture isolated words of their conversation so he concentrated on their body language.

Her hand gestures, her facial expressions and the fact that she pivoted away from Ryan twice, only to face him again, were clear indications that the woman was angry. Merging this information with the few words he could piece together, Adam concluded that she'd been to the hospital and refused entrance to Jillian's room.

Curious, he turned his attention on Ryan. The man was calm but his arms were folded across his chest as he listened to the woman's tirade. When he finally did speak, telling her that he was within his rights to put a guard at the victim's door, it was with a shrug of his shoulders.

The woman's face was clearly visible when she told the detective that, as Jarod's lawyer, she had a right to interview Jillian.

"I never said you didn't," Ryan replied. "If the girl asked that you be removed from her room, there's nothing I can do with it. My men did what I would have expected them to do."

Again, the woman pivoted away and, though he couldn't see her lips move, he knew she'd said something because of Ryan's reaction. Dropping his arms to his side, he moved in front of the woman, blocking her exit.

"You can go to any judge you like," he said, his anger visible by the tight muscles around his mouth. "But, if you do, you're going to have to explain what you said or did to upset the only person who can convince the world your client is innocent. So, why don't you just tell me?"

He was so involved in watching the altercation that Adam almost missed seeing the two women enter the police station. They stood at the wide double doors for a moment, their eyes darting around the room with sheer determination. His mother spotted Ryan first but, before she could interrupt his discussion with Cara, her focus was redirected by Emily. With no more than a tap on Margaret's shoulder, the younger woman headed toward the corridor leading to the interrogation rooms. Immediately, Margaret followed.

Adam frowned at the approach and took a step back. As he did, though, his gaze fell on Jarod's lawyer. Cara watched his mother and sister cross the room and, when she saw him standing at the edge of the hall, her eyes widened with surprise. After a quick glance at Ryan, who was now staring at Cara with obvious curiosity, the young man backed down the hall, knowing Margaret and Emily would follow. Something told him he needed to get his family out of the woman's line of sight.

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you on the phone. I came to help Jarod, Mom."

The woman stared at him. It was a hard stare, one that he knew she used when she was determined to make him see things her way. He glanced at Emily for support but his sister just shook her head and took a step toward the wall. With a heavy sigh, Adam looked back at his mother and reached for her hand.

"I really know what I'm doing," he promised. "I can clear Jarod. I can make everyone at the Centre, including Lyle, leave us alone."

"At what price?" she dared.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emily raise her eyes to stare at him. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it does!" Then, in a sudden, almost too-calm voice, she added, "I will not lose one child to save another, even if one of them mistakenly believes they are expendable."

He had expected that his mother would be against his plan; he had expected that she would try to talk him out of it and use Jarod's wishes, her fears and his father's ability to keep them all safe, as reasons he should leave well enough alone. What he hadn't expected were tears. She wasn't crying – at least not in any way he had ever seen before. She wasn't wiping at her eyes, or turning away in frustration. She wasn't releasing heavy but shuddered sighs. She wasn't struggling to keep her voice from cracking. Instead, her grey orbs shimmered for a moment then, seemingly without her knowledge, the tears silently slipped down the side of her face.

He felt her squeeze his hand, as if to accentuate her point. Swallowing the guilt that was rising within him, Adam whispered, "I'm sorry. I have to do this."

*********

"Hey! Answer my question," Ryan demanded, bringing Cara's attention back on him.

She stared at him a moment, then pivoted to look toward the hall. "Who were those people?"

Frowning, he glanced in the direction she indicated then looked back at her. "Why do you want to know?"

"Are they connected to Jarod's case?"

"Now, why would you think they have anything to do with Jarod?"

"Call it a gut feeling."

He smiled and shook his head. "I hate to disappoint you, but they're here on a different investigation."

She scowled at him. "An investigation into what?"

"None of your damned business. Now, do you want to see Jillian Kincade, or not?"

Taking a deep breath, she glanced over her shoulder once more then nodded. "Of course I do, that's why I'm here."

"Fine, then let's go. If you're not going to tell me what happened, I'm going to sit in on the interview."

"Like hell you are."

"Take it or leave it," he growled. "I don't know what you did to her to get yourself kicked out but it must have been pretty harsh for my men to ban you from the room. The only way you're going to get in to see that girl again is if I'm with you."

*********

The words were soft and meant to be a gentle assertion of his confidence. He wanted her on his side. He wanted her on his side. So, when Margaret pulled her hand from his and turned away, Adam felt the blood drain from his face.

"Mom . . ."

The slight shake of her head and a weak raise of her hand stopped him from continuing. He looked at Emily, silently pleading for her help and, in response, his sister dropped her eyes. His gaze darted back to his mother and, suddenly, it seemed as if his entire world was collapsing and he was powerless to stop it.

"At least let me tell you. Please. Let me explain what I want to do and . . ."

"Elvis, some thing has happened," Emily murmured. He brought his eyes back to his sister as she approached him. "Miss Parker called from the prison. Jarod was locked up with Philip Kelley for almost four hours. He was drugged and . . ."

His eyes widened when the woman's words faded. "Is Jarod all right?"

"We don't know. Dad and Sydney are on their way to see him but it didn't sound good." She glanced at her mother. "After they were gone, we came here to find you."

Adam looked back at his mother. Still standing with her back to him, the woman had wrapped her arms around herself and was leaning against the wall. He moved to her side and, hesitantly, pulled her to his chest.

*********

TBC (as if you hadn't figured that out!)

feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)

Thanks


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer in part 1

Note: Yes, it's still "Day 8". What can I say? The days and nights are really long for our hero because I have yet to learn how to edit.

Warning: This is an EXTREMELY long chapter (again, because I have yet to learn how to edit). I hope you like it.

Survival II – Retribution

By imagine

Chapter 29/?

_He was silent, keeping his hand nestled in hers and his eyes trained on the doctor, until a gurney was wheeled into the room. Finally facing the woman, he murmured, "Don't leave him alone with me, Parker, or I'll never find out what happened."_

*********

He gave into his exhaustion the moment he was placed on the gurney but she kept her promise. She stayed with him as he was wheeled through the corridors of the visitor's wing, and into the sector that housed the medical staff. The infirmary was one level underground and larger than she expected. There were no windows, so the only light was from the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. With images of the Renewal Wing creeping into her thoughts, Parker allowed herself an angry tirade aimed at the staff nurse when the woman directed the guards to take Jarod into the main ward and to escort her to the door. After only a few minutes the nurse acquiesced to Parker's wishes.

He woke briefly during her rant but quickly returned to a fitful sleep. Minutes later, after being transferred from the stretcher to a bed in a room reserved for quarantined patients, he woke again. Startled, he struggled against the straps that held his ankles and wrists, but calmed considerably when she moved into his line of sight. With one hand in his, she rested the other on his chest and told him to take deep breaths and keep his eyes on her.

"You're okay, Jarod. It's just you and me."

His eyes darted around the private room, as if confirming her words. "How long was I out?"

"Not long. About twenty minutes." Raising the head of the bed so he was in a sitting position, she reached for the pitcher on the bedside table and filled the plastic cup. "Have some water, you'll feel better."

When he instinctively reached for the glass, and was reminded of the restraints, his eyes dropped to his wrists.

"The doctor put them on as a precaution," she told him. "It's nothing to worry about."

"Considering what I was doing when you found me, I can't blame him," he admitted, falling back against the pillows. When she slid her hand across his brow he turned away. "I'm okay, Parker."

"You're trembling."

"I'm okay."

She frowned and the cup to his lips. "Drink."

He offered a weak smile then obeyed the command.

"I called your father and Sydney. They should be here in soon."

Instead of berating her for contacting his family, as she expected, Jarod hesitated, swallowed another sip of water then asked, "What about Philip? Where is he?"

"He's with the infirmary doctor – a Doctor Collins - trying to explain what happened. Broots is running a check on Collins, just in case, but, I saw his reaction when he you were brought in. I think the guy is okay." She waited until he nodded then continued, "When Kelley is done with Collins, he has an appointment with Security and, then, though he doesn't know it yet, he has an appointment with me."

She shot Jarod a wry smile. His return smile faded when he glanced toward the closed door.

"Kelley isn't going to get anywhere near this room. The guards have strict orders."

He looked back at her and nodded. "I know."

"He claims he's given you the drug before and that this was the first time you've had an adverse reaction."

"Adverse reaction," Jarod repeated, suppressing a cough. "Well, I suppose, you could say he is telling the truth. This was the first time I ever attacked him."

She held the cup of water to his lips again, and, while he drank, asked, "You remember him giving you this drug before?"

"It was part of my 'training'," he murmured heavily. "He gave it to me whenever I was overly disobedient or unruly."

"I see. So, he used it a lot."

*********

Adam rose from the table as Lou entered with the bottles of water. Leaving his mother and sister where they were, he moved across the room, meeting the police detective at the half way point. He glanced over his shoulder at the women then, as he took the water from the man, asked, "When is Detective Stratford returning?"

"I really don't know, Kid," Lou replied sympathetically. "All he said is that he'd be back as soon as he could."

Adam frowned. He knew that Ryan and Cara were headed to the hospital, because he'd read their lips; but he didn't think now was the right time to reveal he had that ability. "Do you happen to know where he and Jarod's lawyer were headed?"

"If I could tell you, I would." Glancing over the younger man's shoulder at the women who were now watching them intently, he added, "But, if I don't hear from him in the next half hour, I'll call his cell to get status. Okay?"

"Thank you."

Waiting until the Detective left, Adam turned and faced his mother and sister. Immediately, Margaret averted her gaze. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the table and placed the bottles of water in the center.

"Does he know?"

Adam cracked open the lid on his bottle and took a long drink as he sat beside her. "No. I only told Detective Stratford, Mom."

"How do you know he hasn't . . .?"

"Because I know," the boy interrupted, not bothering to hide his irritation. "He won't tell anyone. At least not until after we've talked more."

She rubbed her temples and shook her head. "If he truly hasn't told anyone then maybe we still have a chance of putting this right. When he returns, we can explain . . ."

"Mom, we have been over this. I promise, telling Detective Stratford was the right thing to do. He will help us."

"Help us with what, Adam? We don't know anything about him. He could have ties to the Centre."

"You don't believe that. If he were working for the Centre, Sweepers would have showed up on our doorstep a long time ago." Taking a deep breath, he took his mother's hand. "Mom, I know you're scared, but you trust Detective Stratford. Dad, Jarod and Emily trust him. Even Miss Parker trusts him and she doesn't trust anyone. She showed him the DSA's; she let him spend the night at the bungalows."

Margaret shook her head and reached for a bottle of water. Without opening it, she stood and moved to toward the door, clutching the plastic container with both hands. "It could be a ruse. Jarod's in jail because of Lyle. He refuses to see anyone but her and Philip Kelley. Lyle is her brother. What if . . ."

"Do not continue that thought," he warned, darkly. "Miss Parker is our friend, and you know it. She is not working with the Centre."

Margaret stared at her son a moment, startled by the tone in his voice. The young man's gaze was glistening but his expression was hard and his posture was suddenly stiff. She'd known, of course, that her son had a crush on the brunette but this was the first time she had seen him exhibit the same level of protectiveness that Jarod displayed.

"I will admit that Miss Parker has not displayed any loyalty to the Centre."

The fact that his mother's words and tone seemed to be contradictory was not lost on him; however he chose not to push the issue. He did not want the conversation to spiral into speculation about what Miss Parker might have been doing between the time she left Jarod, and when she reappeared in his life a week ago. He believed the brunette when she said she'd formed a crew to investigate what Lyle was doing with Jarod's DNA samples and that she had been trying to protect Jarod from a distance. However, he also knew the histories each woman had with the Centre, so he understood why his mother was skeptical about Miss Parker's claims.

"Nor has Detective Stratford," he insisted, gently. "Broots and I both ran background checks on him. He came up clean."

"So did Philip Kelley at first," she snapped. Seeing his eyes widen and then dart away from her, guiltily, the woman silently chastised herself and, in a softer tone, said, "I'm sorry. I did not mean that the way it sounded. I just meant that Lyle kept the association hidden well. None of this was the fault of you or Mr. Broots, Baby. You don't have to prove anything."

The young man took a deep breath and, after wiping his face with both hands, nodded, "I know but I still have to do this, Mom. I want . . . it's time for the family to be safe, once and for all."

"What about you? I need _**you**_ to be safe. Just because Detective Stratford is clean, doesn't mean that the Centre doesn't have an operative somewhere nearby," she told him. "They have ways of finding things out. If they discover what you're planning, you and Jarod will be in danger."

"Mom, we're in danger now. We've been in danger our entire lives," he said quietly. "I'll be careful. I promise."

"What about Jarod? Your brother is in prison and, until your father calls, we have no idea what condition he is in. He's an easy target," she told him. "You heard what Miss Parker said yesterday – there is no telling how many people at the prison are associated with the Centre. You cannot run a background check on all of them."

"I know," he nodded, averting his gaze. "But, Jarod will be all right."

"You don't know that!" With a wave of her hand, Margaret shook her head and turned away. "I cannot believe that you thought this was a good idea. I cannot believe that you didn't see fit to discuss this with the family before you put things in motion."

Exasperated, Adam looked to his sister for help in explaining the merits of his plan to their mother, but, instead, the younger woman rose from the table and moved to the far side of the room. He followed her with his eyes until she stopped at the corner and faced him without a word. He knew that she was still hurt that he had not confided in her about the things Lyle had done to him. The fact that he had left without a word in order to implement a plan he had never discussed with her was probably making things even worse between them; but he didn't have the time to talk to her about it. He needed her to understand. He needed her to trust him, the way he had always trusted her. .

"I know you're disappointed in me and I'm sorry. I really am," he sighed. "But, I didn't talk this over with _**anyone**_ because I'm not going to change my mind."

"You didn't talk to us because, deep down, you have doubts. You're just being stubborn. You know you are wrong."

"We won't know if I'm right or if I'm wrong, until who I am becomes public knowledge," he replied. "We need to let it play out."

"By then, it could be too late."

"It might already be too late. What we're doing – what we've been doing – running every time there is the slightest threat isn't fixing anything. While we look for a place to hide, Jarod runs interference and gets hurt – physically and emotionally. Each time it's worse than the time before. I know that this is not the life you want for any of us." When she looked away, sheepishly, he added, "The Centre is banking on the fact that we're so afraid of losing what we have that we won't come out of hiding to expose them."

"And they would be right," the woman hissed angrily. "I _**am **_too afraid to expose them. Kyle is dead. Jarod is in jail. You've been taken from me twice in the last week. Of course I want to stop hiding, to know my family is safe; but I won't lose anyone else, in the process, Adam. I can't."

Once again, Adam glanced at his sister but Emily did not react to the words. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on him as if she were curious about his reply. With a deep sigh, he turned back to his mother.

"Do you really think Kyle would be okay with hiding like this, if he were alive? And, Jarod – Jarod could have disappeared the moment he escaped from the Centre. He could have started a new life and never surfaced on their radar. I promise you, they would never have found him. Instead, he openly searched for Dad, Kyle, Emily, and you. He even put himself in danger to rescue me, though he didn't have any obligation to do so."

"We're not talking about your brothers, and what they've done. We're talking about you."

"We can't talk about me unless we talk about them. Don't you see? We're standing here, having this conversation, because of the risks they took – and what did it get them? Kyle's dead and Jarod has been kidnapped, drugged and abused in ways . . ." he let his voice fade when she turned her head. "Kyle went from the Centre to prison and then died fighting for his freedom. History is repeating itself, Mom. We have to stop it now."

"No. The situations are different," she insisted. "Jarod is in prison because he won't fight. He's trying to protect us."

"And Kyle died protecting Jarod," he pointed out. "Mom, it's just not fair. It's not fair to Jarod, or to us, to keep going down the same path because, eventually, someone will be lost – just as Kyle was. If our family has any hope of surviving, we need to do the unexpected. It's time we _**all**_ started fighting back. It's time we started hiding in plain sight."

"He's right," a quiet voice said from the corner. "We can't expect different results if we keep making the same choices." Though her words were directed at their mother, Emily locked eyes with Adam. "I understand what Adam is saying. I understand what he's trying to accomplish by announcing to the world that he is Jarod's clone. He wants to prove it to them. He wants to be on the front page of every newspaper, the subject of every internet blog and a guest on every talk show."

"To what end? None of that will change what's happening now for the better. It won't change the fact that Jarod is trapped in that prison, or make either of them less of a target for the Centre."

Emily looked at her mother. "Adam and Jarod have the same DNA. By going public, Adam will be tainting the jury pool. People will have no choice but to consider that, maybe, Jarod didn't commit the crimes he's accused of." She looked back at her brother. "He's providing the reasonable doubt."

"There is nothing reasonable about any of this," Margaret muttered, turning her attention back on her son. "By proving that you have the same DNA, you may free your brother but what if something goes wrong? What if you become a suspect?"

"Mom, I was in Chicago when three of the murders took place and I can prove it, if I need to," he said. "But it won't come to that. I promise."

"Don't do that! Do not promise something you do not have the power to deliver." Margaret turned away from her son for a moment, then turned back to face him – her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Even if the authorities don't come after you as a suspect, others might and they may be even more ruthless than the Centre."

"Or, after a burst of publicity, our family could settle into a normal life, the life you and Dad wanted when you were married."

She shook her head and moved closer to him. "Have you even discussed this with Jarod? You're putting his life in danger, don't you think he should have a say?"

"This isn't about me and Jarod; at least, not the way you're thinking. It is about the Centre," he said, quietly. "Jarod would understand."

"Oh, dear God."

"Once the public knows of my existence," he continued, "they'll have no choice but to question how I came to be and, hopefully, consider the possibility that there are more like me. When they start asking questions. . . "

"You don't just want to protect the family. You want to bring the Centre down."

*********

Her back was against the wall, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes trained on the door marked 'Private'. The scowl on her face felt as if it were becoming a permanent state. As she waited for Jarod's exam to be complete, she tried to remember when, or if, either of them had smiled since she returned to his life. Frustrated, she sighed and pushed herself from the wall, keeping her arms folded. Simultaneously, the door opened and the doctor appeared at the threshold.

"He would like to see you."

Miss Parker let her arms fall to her side and slowly moved toward the infirmary room. The doctor moved to the side, allowing her to pass, but rather than doing so, she stopped in front of him.

"How is he?"

The man hesitated then glanced over her shoulder, into the room. "His wounds are superficial and he is less agitated than he was when he was brought in, but we agreed to keep the restraints in place for now. It seems as if whatever Dr. Kelley injected is causing an excruciating headache, muscle spasms, chills and flashbacks – or hallucinations – we're not sure which. I don't know how much was given to him, but Dr. Kelley tells me the effects should wear off in about ten hours. Unfortunately, the flashbacks, especially, are causing Jarod anxiety which, in turn, causes a dangerous spike in his blood pressure. He needs to rest, preferably with a period of uninterrupted, peaceful sleep."

"Good luck with that," she sighed. "Can't you give him something – a sedative?"

"Not without knowing the components of what he has already been given and I'm afraid, in that regard, Dr. Kelley is not being as cooperative as I would like." Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved three vials of blood each labeled with Jarod's name. "I'm hoping these will give me a clue about how to help Jarod."

"And if they don't?"

He sighed and returned the vials back to his pocket. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime – at least until the drug wears off – I'm going to keep him in the infirmary and out of the general population for his safety, as well as his fellow inmates."

She looked into the room for a long moment then faced the doctor again. "If he's that bad off, why are you letting me see him?"

"He asked for you," the man replied, simply. "And, frankly, I think your presence will help to reduce his stress and keep him calm."

"For Jarod's sake, I hope you're right."

At the sound of the soft click of the door closing, Jarod rolled his head toward her. She thought she saw a brief smile but it faded so quickly she couldn't be sure. It was instinct for her to glance around the room and, when her gaze returned to Jarod, his eyes had closed.

Despite the fresh bruises around his mouth and cheeks, and the bloodshot eyes she knew were hidden beneath the closed lids, she told herself that his coloring had improved slightly. He was still pale but not as much as he had been earlier.

"You look better."

"You used to be a better liar, Miss Parker."

"Would you have preferred I said you looked like death warmed over?"

"At least it would have been closer to the truth." Watching as she slid a heavy metal chair to the side of his bed, Jarod adopted a softer tone. "I never thanked you, did I?"

"You don't need to thank me. It was your plan, remember?"

"Yes, I also remember that you were the one who had to execute it."

"It wasn't that difficult, considering how little the State pays its correctional officers," she assured him. "It's amazing what kind of support you can get for a few dollars these days."

"Well, if you and your informant – whoever they are – hadn't gotten me out of there, my situation would have been much worse right now," he told her. "I would have killed Philip."

"I can't speak for my informant; but I can tell you that my actions were purely selfish." Crossing her legs, she sat back in the chair and stared at him. "If I let you kill Kelley, I wouldn't be able to and, trust me, I've been looking forward to it since the day I met him. I've got some very creative ideas that we can discuss when you're stronger."

He smiled briefly then glanced toward the door. "Where is he now?"

"He's with the Heads of Security. They'll come in and talk to you, as soon as Doctor Cooper allows it. From what I've been told, the warden has already been suspended until an investigation can be completed. It seems he gave permission for the all day session and ordered the cameras to be deactivated."

Jarod nodded and closed his eyes, but said nothing.

Remembering what the doctor had said about Jarod's headaches, she allowed a few minutes of silence before stating softly, "This shouldn't have happened. You were supposed to be pretending."

"I was, Parker. I promise you." He turned to look at her, without lifting his head from the pillow. "Things just got out of control."

"Okay, then tell me _**how**_ they got out of control."

Jarod sighed. "Philip wanted the disks. He was demanding I run a simulation to find them and the more I refused the more frustrated and angry he became."

"So, naturally you continued to refuse so you could get more of a rise out of him," she accused. "You like living dangerously, don't you?"

Jarod shrugged and offered her a tired smile. "Maybe, but I never intended to let myself be injected. The moment I realized what Philip was planning, I decided that, when the guard returned with the drug, I would cause a scene and get myself escorted back to my cell before it could be administered."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Philip was desperate for me to run the simulation, to obey his commands without question. He started threatening me with my memories. He claimed that he suppressed and altered them to protect me and that I owed him." The Pretender spoke in a low, bitter tone. "He said that if I didn't do as he instructed, he would punish me by returning a few of the memories. Once I experienced the pain they would cause, I would understand and be willing to do anything for him to take them away again."

"Philip Kelley wasn't the only person in that room who was desperate."

"Yes, I was desperate. I still am. You have no idea what it's like to lose time, to wonder what you've done and to whom," he replied softly. "I knew what the drug could do – what it's done to me in the past - but I didn't care. I was willing to take that risk in order to fill in some of the blanks."

"And that risk landed you here. Was it worth it?"

Jarod thought about the question a moment then, in a tired voice, replied, "Philip filled my mind with images that contradict some of the memories I've been clinging to as being true. His versions are not pleasant but, if they're accurate, they could explain why the things I remember do not fit together in the way they should."

"You aren't saying that you believe him, are you?"

"I honestly do not know what I believe," he sighed. "I know what I want to be real and I know what he told me; the truth is probably somewhere in between."

Miss Parker hesitated, watching him try to shift to a more comfortable position despite the restraints that held him in place. The muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled as he twisted the lower part of his spine until his body was in alignment. After a moment, he looked at her, questioningly, as if he had felt the weight of her stare. His gaze, though, pulled her out of her trance.

Clearing her throat, she said, "When the guards and I broke into the room, you had Kelley pinned to the wall. Your arm was pressed to his throat. You kept saying he wouldn't tell you what happened next."

There was no question, but Jarod nodded and swallowed hard. "Philip showed me something . . . a partial memory that I had no recollection of. He wouldn't . . ."

When his voice faded and didn't return immediately, she decided she'd pushed him too far too son. "It's okay, Jarod. I get it. When Sydney arrives . . ."

He shook his head, took a deep breath and, though he'd intended a stronger voice, whispered, "No. You . . . don't understand. You need to know. I . . . I was there, Parker. I was at Jillian's house that night. I stood in the shadows and watched her dress for her run. She didn't know I was there. I let her leave. When she returned . . . I . . . attacked her from behind"

Jarod turned away from her, once again training his eyes on the ceiling. His eyes glazed over then closed. The rise and fall of his chest quickened. His hands curled into fists then, just as quickly, opened and closed again as he pulled at the cloth restraints. She knew, immediately, that he was seeing the images Philip had planted.

"I put my hand over her mouth." His voice was filled with so much pain, the words sounded more like a moan than a statement. "She struggled. She kicked. She fought hard but I was stronger."

Remembering the doctor's warning about Jarod's blood pressure, Parker moved closer to the bed and slid her hand over his. "Philip Kelley is, among other things, a liar. You told me so yourself. We will find out what really happened, but right now, you need to relax."

"She was terrified. She was trembling. I could feel her tears on the side of my hand and the vibrations of her cries against my palm. I . . . I wrapped my free arm around her waist. I pulled her back and . . . and pinned her against my chest as I dragged her into . . . the bedroom." He looked away and though the trunk of his body suddenly went lax, he struggled to find a breath. "That's where it . . . ends, Parker. I don't know . . . what I . . . I don't know what happened next."

"I don't believe you hurt her. I don't know what happened that night, and I don't know what you're seeing now, but I'm not going to let you take Philip Kelley's word that you are to blame. Do you understand me?" Squeezing his hand as it flexed in its restraint, she forced herself to use a strong tone, "Jarod, look at me. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. No, I said slowly. Jarod . . . Shit. This isn't working. I'm going to get the doctor."

"No." Suddenly, his fingers found hers and gripped them tightly. "Don't leave."

"Jarod, I don't know what to do to help you," she insisted. "You're hyperventilating. You're blood pressure must be through the roof. You need the doctor."

"No. I don't need . . . him. I just need . . . ." His voice was heavy, filled with thick, shallow breaths. He squeezed her hand again and smiled weakly as he closed his eyes. "Help me focus on . . . something else. It will help."

"Jarod . . ."

"Tell me about . . . something I should remember; something good. Something you know to be . . . true."

"Jarod, you need a doctor. You . . ."

"No." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Please. Tell me about . . . us."

"Us?" she asked, startled by the request.

"Philip altered some - maybe all – of my memories before he . . . locked them away. The door is open now but, before I try to take them back, I need to know what's . . . real." His eyes opened slowly and he turned to meet her gaze. "Just talk to me, Parker, tell me a truth about us. You . . . . you are the only one . . . who can."

His body tensed again and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head toward the ceiling. Instinctively, she increased the pressure of her grip on his hand, as if trying to add her strength to his. After about half a minute, his body went lax and, though it was still quicker than normal, his breathing began to regulate.

"I'm . . . okay," he promised, seeing the fear in her face. "It was just a muscle spasm."

"There didn't look to be anything 'just' about it."

He forced a weak smile. "It's nothing . . . I haven't . . . dealt with before."

"That's what bothers me." Still holding his hand, she took a deep breath, glanced toward the door then raked her free hand through her hair. "So, you want me to tell you the truth about us. You really think that will help you rest?"

He nodded, but didn't reply.

"Are you sure? You've had a rough day and, well, you and I . . . we're . . . complicated."

Jarod closed his eyes and murmured, "Stop stalling."

"Fine," she sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He smiled and nodded but kept his eyes closed.

Pulling her hand from his, she folded her arms in front of her and took a step away from the bed. "What do you remember about the day I moved in to the beach house?"

"Emily invited you. She gave you a key . . . without telling me."

"Yes, but that's not the day I mean," she said quietly. "What do you remember about the first time I moved in with you?"

Slowly, Jarod's head rolled toward her and his eyes opened. His gaze seemed darker and, at the same time, more innocent than before. He stared at her, his brow furrowing in concentration briefly before he whispered, "I don't know."

She reached for the water pitcher, and filled two cups. After taking a long swallow from the first, she picked up the second and held it to Jarod's lips. When he turned away; indicating that he'd had his fill, she frowned and said, "It was raining and I was an hour late. You were waiting on the porch and the very first thing you said to me was that everyone was beginning to get worried. Then you said you'd tried to call me several times and wanted to know why I didn't answer my phone."

"So?"

"So, I hadn't even gotten out of the car, and we were arguing."

"I told you we were worried," he managed, not bothering to mask the confusion in his voice. "That was arguing?"

"Hell, yeah," she laughed, sliding the cup on the side table, "especially after I told you that I was a big girl and didn't need anyone worrying about me. You then made things worse by telling me I needed to get used to it if our arrangement was going to work. At that point, I informed you that I didn't have to get used to anything because I could – and would – leave any time I felt like it."

His gaze turned toward the ceiling and his expression was suddenly somber. She let her smile fade and tried to swallow the guilt rising in her throat. Philip Kelley may have left gaping holes where Jarod's memories had been, but there was no doubt that he'd left the hurt associated with her leaving in tact. He had admitted to using it to manipulate Jarod more than once. Now, all she could do was hope that Jarod remembered what she'd confessed a few nights before. Even if he hadn't forgiven her, he would know the truth and they wouldn't have to have the conversation again.

"Jarod?"

"It's all right, Parker," he murmured as he turned back to her. "I know why you left."

She stared at him, skeptically.

"We had a long talk at your apartment," he said, proving that his memory of the subject was in tact. "You explained everything, including the fact that you were trying to protect me. Either I never had a chance to discuss it with Philip, or he didn't have time to alter it, because even though I still remember that I would have preferred you talked to me, instead of leaving a note and disappearing in the night, I understand that you thought you had no choice."

"You do?"

"Yes. Now, please, tell me more about what happened the day you moved in."

She hesitated a moment then sighed and said, "We stopped arguing the moment your parents stepped on to the porch. Your father welcomed me and took my bags upstairs. Your mother put her arm around me and ushered me into the house, offering me iced tea and promising that we would become great friends."

"Did you?"

She looked at him. "Did I what?"

"Did you and my mother become great friends?"

"Let's deal with one thing at a time, Jarod. You and I are complicated enough, but you, your mother and I are . . . well, let's not get into that now, okay?" When he nodded grudgingly, she said, "Good."

"Go on with your story."

"You're trembling again. Maybe I should . . ."

"I'm fine. Stop stalling."

She frowned then paused to collect her thoughts. "Where was I?"

"We stopped arguing for my parent's sake."

"Right." She took a deep breath and continued, "We did our best to behave; but it was as if we couldn't help ourselves. We argued about where to hang that hideous mirror you bought at Sears, what music to listen to with dinner, which of us should do the dishes, who should empty the garbage and what you had planned for us to do the next day. It's impossible to remember everything we bickered about but those were the highlights. Your parents did a decent job playing referee, but when they went to their room and we started disagreeing about the rules to Pinochle, I decided I'd had enough and went to bed."

He stared at her as she rose from the bed and crossed the room. "That's it? That's the story that came to mind when I asked you to tell me about us?"

"Don't get your shorts in a knot. I'm not done." Parker retrieved a blanket from the cabinet beside the door and returned to his side. "I went upstairs wondering if I'd made a mistake. You and I argue. It's what we do. At least, it's what we've done most of our adult lives. I wasn't sure we could communicate any other way, especially in such close quarters, and I didn't know how it would affect your recovery."

"So, you were considering leaving, even then."

His voice was low and sad, but rather than trying to reassure him, Parker, continued, "I took a shower and slipped into an old T-shirt and shorts. I was laying on the chaise lounge on the balcony, considering my options when you appeared in the doorway."

He said nothing, his eyes moving from her face to her hands as she placed the blanket at the edge of the bed and unbuckled the restraint on his left ankle. As the strap fell away, she reached down and gently massaged the abused area of skin, before moving on to do the same with his left wrist.

"You draped a light blanket across my lap and shoulders and told me it could get chilly by the ocean at night. Then you leaned over and kissed me."

The words hung between them for a few seconds before Jarod asked, "Did you kiss me back?"

The question was soft and, she thought, carried an almost serious tone. "Kiss you back? You kissed me on the forehead, like I was your sister or something."

He frowned and looked at her skeptically.

"You wanted the truth," she reminded him.

When the Pretender shot her another confused look, she dropped her gaze and freed his wrist from the restraint and continued the story, "You thanked me for moving in. You said that everyone walked on eggshells around you, afraid that you would either snap or have a meltdown. The fact that I was still treating you the same – bickering with you and challenging every word out of your mouth, you said you knew your life had not spun completely out of control."

Laying his hand on his chest, she let her own hand linger for only a second before pulling away. Jarod said nothing, his eyes trained attentively on hers even as she dropped the railing on the right side of the bed.

"I guess, at that point, you became self-conscious because you suddenly said goodnight and started for the door." Hugging herself, she took a deep breath and lowered herself to the chair. "I told you that you didn't have to leave. You said you did."

"It was too soon."

She hesitated. "Do you remember?"

"Not all of it," he admitted quietly, watching as she moved from the chair to the edge of the bed. "But I remember that you seemed to understand that I meant it was too soon for me, not for us."

"I knew what Lyle had done," she said quietly. "What else do you remember?"

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I would rather you tell me what really happened. I'll tell you if it matches anything floating around in my memory."

She nodded and, though he closed his eyes again, she kept her gaze fixated on his face. "Well, judging by the way you moved and the way your eyes glistened, I could see that you obviously hadn't slept in days. I knew that, if you left, you wouldn't rest. You would go somewhere and try to make sense of what you remembered about the cabin. I didn't think you were strong enough to handle it on your own."

He looked at her, his brow furrowing with confusion. "Did you say that to me?"

"And start another argument? No, I didn't say it," she laughed. Then, slipping her hand in his, she adopted a more serious tone and promised, "But I did tell you not to leave, Jar, I asked you to trust me and . . ."

"So . . . you didn't nod and turn away? You didn't return to the balcony and let me leave?"

"No." She narrowed her eyes and forced a sarcastic tone, "And, if that's what you remember, I now have one more reason to make Kelley's downfall as painful as possible."

He smiled slightly at what he perceived was an attempt to lighten the mood, but did not offer a comment. He stared at the way her hand folded over his while his mind was raced to identify and make sense of the pictures that were surfacing.

"You took my hand. You brought me back to the chaise on to the balcony." Unsure of whether he was reciting fact or fantasy, he shifted his attention to her face as he hesitantly continued her story. "Then you slid beside me and pulled the blanket over both of us. When I asked you what you were doing . . . you told me to shut up and close my eyes."

When she smiled and nodded, Jarod inhaled sharply and tightened his grip on her hand. "I didn't spend the night on the beach, alone, trying to piece together what Lyle did to me."

"No."

Squeezing her hand once more before letting go, Jarod brought both hands to his face and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. She asked if he was all right and, unable to find the words to explain that he was concentrating on the visions that were suddenly swimming through his mind, he managed a slight nod. He needed the images to last. He needed them to burn themselves into his brain as much as he needed the associated emotions to take root in his heart. As illogical as it seemed, he was afraid if opened his eyes, or spoke, too soon, everything would fade – and if that happened, he would lose them forever.

"We stayed on the balcony all night," she told him. "We didn't move until after the sun came up."

"I fell asleep with you in my arms, listening to the tide roll on and off the beach," he whispered, using his fingers to clutch locks of his own hair. "I woke at sunrise the same way."

"Yes."

"You didn't push me away. You . . . stayed with me," he whispered. "I wasn't alone."

Reaching for his hands, she gently drew them away from his face. When he finally looked at her, she promised, "I fell asleep in your arms, Jarod, and decided that there was no place I would rather be."

"You told me that didn't you? In the morning, you said . . ." When she nodded, he released a shuddered breath and averted his eyes.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to go on?"

He swallowed, nodded, and leaned against the pillows. "Yes."

Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes on his and said, "The rain had stopped during the night. There was a cool wind but, when we woke, we didn't go inside right away. You shifted your weight so that your body blocked me from some of the breeze, pulled the blanket to my shoulders and held me closer."

"You stayed in my arms and we talked," he whispered.

She waited until she was sure he wasn't going to continue the story then said, "We talked about the ocean, about how fascinating it was to consider there was another world just below the surface. We talked about how calm it was compared to the night before. You told me something about the water temperature for that time of year and said you'd planned on going for a swim after breakfast."

"You said all you wanted was coffee. When we finally got up . . . ." He saw her smile as another image invaded his mind. "I kissed you again. I kissed you and, this time, it wasn't on the forehead."

Her grin widened and she nodded, but Miss Parker did not speak. Instead, she watched his face as started to resemble the man she'd known a long time ago. He seemed more relaxed. His dark eyes, though bloodshot, and shadowed by bruises, didn't hold the same confused expression they'd had when she'd found him with Kelley.

"For almost a year, the ocean has been a refuge for me," he whispered. "I search it out whenever I am confused or upset. I don't need to be standing on the beach. As long as I can hear it or taste the salt in the air, I can close my eyes, imagine the waves and feel myself relax."

She looked at him and nodded. "I know."

"No, you don't understand. No matter how hard I tried, I could never figure out why it had such a calming affect on me," he said, softly. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he let his finger slide down the side of her face. "Now I know. That night, my subconscious made a connection between the ocean and you."

"I don't know about that," she sighed, pushing the top blanket to the side. "It sounds a little contrived."

"No. The ocean kept me sane, Parker, because of you."

"I think you're talking yourself into it, and I am not going to argue with you, Jarod. Not today. Take it up with Sydney, when he gets here."

"It makes sense," he repeated as she slid beside him and pulled the blanket to their waists. With one arm on his chest and the other nestled between her body and his, she settled her head on his shoulder. When she slid one leg over his, he tenderly closed his arms around her and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you for giving me back a memory that . . ."

"You're being melodramatic just to tick me off, aren't you? I didn't do anything except remind you of something that happened last year," she replied, feigning annoyance. "Now, let it go."

He smiled at the embarrassment in her voice. Pulling her closer, he pressed his lips to her temple and let the silence fall between them. Because he was feeling better than he had in months, though, he soon adopted a playful tone and asked, "Why haven't you and my mother become friends, yet?"

Shifting in her arms so that she could look him squarely in the eye, she replied, "I've shared enough truths for one day and you need to rest. Now shut up and close your eyes or, so help me, I will have the guards reinstate the restraints and then gag you myself."

Again, Jarod smiled and pulled her closer. "Yes, ma'am."

Bringing her head back to his shoulder, Miss Parker smiled.

*********

"What the hell is going on in there?"

The man hesitated and stepped around the corner, hoping it would supply a bit more privacy. "You name it, it's happening. The warden has been suspended; Dr. Kelley is being questioned by Security; and Jarod is in the infirmary with Miss Parker. It's only a matter of time before the press finds out."

Lyle tightened his grip on the phone and, with his free hand, slapped the roof of the car. "Kelley screwed up. Again."

"It appears so." Glancing down the corridors, he dropped his voice in order to avoid being heard and asked, "How do you want me to handle it?"

"The first thing you're going to do is get me Kelley," he growled, facing the building as if he could be seen by the man on the other end of the line. "I don't care how you do it, but you get his sorry ass out here the second he is released from Security. My sister cannot get to him first."

The man took a deep breath. "What about Jarod?"

Lyle smiled sinisterly. "That's the second thing you're going to do. I want to see him."

*********

Margaret stared at her son and repeated, "You want to bring the Centre down."

When he dropped his gaze and lowered himself to the edge of the table, she watched her daughter move to his side. Emily whispered something only Adam could hear and, immediately, Margaret closed her eyes, hoping to collect her thoughts.

Her children were talking about going to war. They wanted to battle the corporation that had torn her family apart decades before and they believed it was the right thing to do. No matter how hard she tried, though, Margaret could not make herself accept that their efforts would result in anything but more pain.

She felt an arm slide around her shoulder and looked up, into Emily's face. The young woman forced a smile that, despite her attempt to do otherwise, betrayed the fact that she, too, was worried.

"It will be all right, Mom. We can do this," she promised, glancing at her brother. "All you have to do is trust him."

"I do trust him," she murmured. "I just don't want to lose him."

"You won't."

Margaret smiled sadly at her daughter then pulled away and moved to stand in front of her son. Adam looked up, timidly. When their eyes met she saw his tears. She had no idea if his emotions were due to his own fear, and doubt; or, if they were a culmination of trying to make her understand his point of view. Suddenly, it didn't matter.

Taking one of his hands in hers, she raised the other to his face and gently cupped his cheek. Then, without a word, she slid her arms around the young man and pulled him to her. With his face buried in her neck and his arms gently wrapped around her waist, she whispered, "You are my son and I love you with all my heart. Please, Adam, don't do this."

He shifted in her hold and tenderly touched his lips to her cheek. When he spoke, his words were almost as soft and ragged as hers had been. "I love you, too, Mom, but, I can't do anything else."

She held him a moment longer, pulling him closer just as the door opened.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll come back."

Releasing the young man, Margaret took a deep breath and shook her head. "It's okay, Detective. I was just leaving."

"Mom . . ."

"Adam, we're going in circles. I cannot give you my blessing to do something that could take you away from me."

"Even if it meant giving our family a normal life – a life without the Centre?" he countered. "Wouldn't you like to settle down in one place, have the family over for dinner once a week and have grandchildren playing in your yard?"

"Of course I would, but not if it means losing you, or someone else I love, in the process." She smiled sadly and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'm going home now and I want you to come with me. When your father and Sydney return from the prison, we'll have a better idea of the situation. We can figure out another way – a safer way – together. Please, just come home with me now."

"I . . . I can't." He placed his hand over hers and slid it from his face. "Mom, please, believe me when I tell you that there is no other way. I have to do this."

Margaret nodded, kissed him on the cheek and pulled her hand from his grasp. Turning, she smiled at the man in the doorway and said, "I am trusting you to take care of my son, Detective. Keep him safe. I expect him home tonight, unharmed."

Ryan nodded, shooting an unsure glance at Adam. Having moved from the edge of the table to the chair, the teen looked suddenly lost. The confidence he had displayed was gone, leaving him looking much younger than he had only an hour before.

Emily watched Margaret leave the room then, taking a deep breath went to her brother. She pulled him into a standing position and hugged him fiercely. Before following her mother, Ryan heard her murmur, "It'll be okay. I'll talk to her."

When both women were gone, Adam turned away from the door.

"Are you all right?"

"I need to see my brother."

Ryan hesitated only because the voice was much deeper than normal for the young man. "Jarod doesn't want . . ."

"I don't care! I don't care if he wants to see me or not!" He turned on his heel and though his expression betrayed his frustration, his voice adopted a softer, albeit equally deep, tone. "I need to see him. It's important."

Adam held the detective's gaze for almost a full minute before, defeated, he dropped back into the chair. His hands came to his face, pressed against his eyes then raked through his hair then, taking a deep breath, returned his gaze to the detective.

"I trusted you with information that very few people know," he said softly. "I trusted you because, from the start, you seemed as if you honestly want to help Jarod and my family. Was I wrong?"

"No."

"My mother believes I was," he sighed. "She thinks I've told you too much and that I'm taking an irresponsible risk. She thinks I'm putting myself and Jarod in more danger."

Ryan moved to the chair beside the younger man, but said nothing. He had no idea what had transpired while he was gone but, whatever it was, it had upset Adam immensely. Knowing what he knew, he could understand Margaret's desire to keep her family safe; but, at the same time, he could also understand Adam's need to take charge.

"Jarod was taken from his bedroom, in the middle of the night, when he was about four. Shortly after that, Kyle was taken. You know about Kyle, right?" he asked, looking at the man. When Ryan nodded and said that Miss Parker had told him, Adam took a deep breath and continued softly. "My parents were separated when Dad tried to break into the Centre to rescue my brothers. Mom spent the next twenty odd years on the run with Emily and didn't even know Dad was still alive until last year. At the same time, she found out that Kyle was dead, Jarod was Lyle's captive, and that I -- existed."

Unsure of what to day, Ryan was silent.

"She doesn't want me to go public. She thinks I'm underestimating Lyle and the Centre and that, if they can't get to me, they'll go after Jarod."

"Is that a possibility?"

He swallowed hard and nodded. "I suppose it's possible that they may come after you, too. So, if you don't want to . . ."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

Adam forced a smile of gratitude then said, "Maybe she's right. Maybe I am too close to this but I can't see any other way to put an end to the running. That's why I need to talk to Jarod."

"If you think that_** you're**_ too close to the situation, why would you think _**he**_ wouldn't be?"

Adam shrugged and took a deep breath. "Mom is angry with me for not discussing my plan with the family before I put it into play. She said that, at the very least, I should include Jarod in the decision because my actions will affect him."

"Well, she does have a point," Ryan conceded.

"I know she does."

"Your mother has had to deal with loss a lot in her life. She's scared. She's afraid of keeping the status quo as much as she is of going through with your plan," he continued. "But, believe it or not, I think she wants the same thing you want – she wants the family to be safe."

"I know."

"So, as great as it is that you want to make her happy, I think it's going to be up to you to consider the end game."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you have to do what you feel is right and then take the necessary precautions. If you decide you want me to forget you told me anything, I can keep my mouth shut," he promised. "But, if you want to move forward, I'll back that decision, too. It's entirely up to you at this point."

"So, if I want to see Jarod tonight, you'll take me?"

He frowned. "Do you honestly think he would see you?"

"Probably not; he thinks that isolating himself from the family is the safest for everyone." Adam sighed and shook his head. "And I can't go to Miss Parker because she's more protective than my mother when it comes to the Centre. I'd be lucky to get her listen to the plan, let alone agree with me."

"What about Jarod's lawyer? She might be able to talk Jarod into seeing you."

"She can't know," he said, his eyes widening as they met the Detectives. "Not yet. You didn't tell her about me, did you?"

Ryan shook his head. "I haven't told anyone."

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive," he nodded, curious about the boy's sudden panic. "I promised I wouldn't say anything, and I haven't."

Adam took a deep breath and, as he released it, nodded his thanks.

"Is there something about Cara DeWitt I should know?"

"She doesn't know Jarod has a family," he replied, averting his gaze. "For now, it's best that we keep it that way."

He frowned. "You'll tell me when I need to know, right?"

The boy offered him a quick smile and nodded.

"Okay, so I guess that leaves me," he sighed

"What do you mean?"

"I think it's important that you talk this over with Jarod," he admitted. "So, I'll go to the prison tomorrow. I will do my best to convince him to see you."

The young man looked up expectantly. "You will?"

"I can't promise anything. In case you haven't noticed, your brother is pretty stubborn." Ryan warned, patting the young man on the back. "But I'll do my best. You just have to let it go until tomorrow."

He stared at the Detective. Although he knew the man's reasons for wanting to delay his visit to the prison, he needed to hear him say it. He needed to know everything he knew and how he had gotten his information. Jarod's life might depend on it.

"Why can't you go tonight?"

"Look, it's all right. Jarod is all right," he said, quickly realizing that he might have frightened the teen, "but, the way I understand it, something happened between him and Philip Kelley today. I don't know what it was; the authorities at the prison are investigating."

"If you don't know what happened, how do you know that Jarod is all right?"

"Cara DeWitt got a call while we were at the hospital," he replied, rising from his chair. "She left for the prison about twenty minutes ago."

"Jarod called his lawyer?"

"I honestly don't know who the caller was," he admitted. "But, like I said, I'm sure Jarod is fine because I asked – and she told me he was."

Adam stood and turned away, his hand moving to massage the muscle at the back of his neck. "Miss Parker called Dad and Sydney. Maybe she called the lawyer, too."

"Miss Parker is at the prison?"

The teen nodded and glanced at his watch. "She called to tell my family that Jarod was in trouble. Mom and Emily came looking for me because Dad and Sydney were headed for the prison. They should be there any minute."

"So you knew what happened? Were you testing me?"

He shook his head. "No. All I know is that Jarod was locked up with Dr. Kelley for over three hours and that he may have been drugged. I just needed to know if you knew anything more. Are you sure you don't know who called Miss DeWitt?"

Ryan stared at the boy as he shook his head. "Why is it important?"

"It might not be," he shrugged. "You said you were at the hospital when she got the call. Why were you there?"

"We went to see Jillian."

"I thought you saw her this morning."

"I did," he nodded, his tone tightening, "but, as your brother's lawyer, Miss DeWitt needed to see her, too. Unfortunately, the call came from the prison before she was able."

Adam stared at the man a moment, his brows furrowing. "Do you always accompany defense attorneys when they interview victims? I thought it was standard practice for the interviews to be done separately since, technically, you work for the prosecution."

"There were extenuating circumstances," he replied curtly. "What's with all the questions? I thought you trusted me."

"I'm just curious," Adam replied, crossing his arms to mirror the Detective's stance. "It seems odd that you would go with her; especially since, from what I saw earlier, things between you and Miss DeWitt were pretty tense."

"I just told you that I would help you get in to see Jarod. Now, you're insinuating something – I'm just not sure what it is," he countered. "Why are you suddenly so suspicious?"

"Did I sound suspicious?" he asked, feigning innocence. "I guess I'll have to work on my tone."

"Stop playing games, Adam. If I'm going to help you keep your family safe, then you need to be honest with me."

"I _**have**_ been more honest with you than with anyone else, Detective. My entire family is vulnerable in ways you cannot imagine right now because of the things I've shared with you. I thought you understood that I expected you to be just as honest with me." He met Ryan's gaze confidently until Lou appeared at the threshold. Sitting at the table, Adam motioned toward the door. "There's someone here to see you."

The man shot a quick glance at his partner and then looked back at the young man who was now staring at the screen of his laptop. Adam looked as if he were immersed in whatever task he had set for himself but Ryan knew enough to know that looks could be deceiving - especially when it came to this particular case.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said.

"Take your time."

Turning, he moved to the door then looked back at Jarod's brother. There was a sadness about him that hadn't been their earlier. To Ryan, it seemed to make the resemblance between Adam and Jarod much more obvious.

It had always been an unwritten investigative rule to gather information while sharing very little. It was the way he'd been train to do his job and, until this case, it had always been a successful technique. Now, as he stared at the young man, Ryan could not help but wonder if it was time to try a different approach.

"We'll talk when I get back."

Adam nodded but did not look up from the computer screen.

*********

_He held her eyes with his, marveling at how her orbs seemed to widen with each pulse of his hand against her throat. Pressing his mouth to her neck, he slid his hand from her throat to her breast as another muted scream caressed his palm. _

"_You just need to cooperate a little longer," he cooed. "Cooperate and it will all be over very soon."_

Jarod jerked himself awake. The abrupt movement sent a sharp pain through his back and shoulders while his hands pushed at the air - and the image. Though he suppressed the cry of pain, his breaths became more audible as he tried to regain control. Shifting on the bed, he hoped to find a more comfortable position and realized, for the first time, that she was not at his side. He turned his head, in search of the brunette, taking odd comfort in the fact that he was still in the prison infirmary. Instead of finding her in the chair beside the bed, however, he found a guard posted against the inside wall.

Suddenly, the thought that he may have imagined her presence invaded his mind and, alarmed, Jarod pushed himself into a sitting position. The pinch of metal on his palm brought his gaze to the cloth straps and their unfastened buckle. Though his freedom from the restraints was not proof that she had been with him, or that she had told him of their night on the balcony, the Pretender accepted it as a good sign.

"Where is Miss Parker?"

"She went to the visitor's entrance to vouch for two men who are not on your list."

His breaths suddenly came easier. "So, she appointed you my baby sitter?"

The man replied with a half nod. "She said that if you gave me any trouble I shouldn't hesitate to put the restraints back on."

"That sounds like something she would say." Dropping his eyes from the man's face to his badge and back again, he added, "It seems our paths keep crossing today, doesn't it, Officer Nash."

The man shrugged. "Do they?"

"You stepped between me and Owens at breakfast."

"Then you should be thanking me," he guard replied sternly. "John Owens isn't anyone to mess with."

Jarod glared at the man. "You also escorted me to my 'session' with Philip. Should I be thanking you for that, too?"

The muscles in the man's neck and shoulders constricted almost immediately. "I had nothing to do with what happened. After I brought you to the room, I was sent to the laundry to break up a fight. I've been in the main ward of the infirmary with the injured con until about thirty minutes ago."

"Right, so no thanks are necessary."

Jarod saw the man's face darken. He took a menacing step toward the Pretender but, before he could take another, both men were distracted by the opening door. His hands still clenched at his side, he turned, expecting to find that a second correctional officer had entered the room. Instead, the sight of the newcomer made his body relax and his scowl melt into a broad grin.

"Dad."

Though the muscles in his legs, arms, back and shoulders still ached from the affects of the drug, Jarod found that his father's embrace did not increase his discomfort. The instant the Major wrapped his arms around him, the Pretender felt more secure than he had in weeks.

"I'm glad you're here," he whispered.

The Major responded by tightening his hold. Jarod enthusiastically returned the hug, clutching his father with more strength than he thought he'd had for longer than he though he'd ever done before. When he slowly began to pull away, though, he discovered that the older man was not ready to break the physical connection. One hand slid to the Pretender's shoulder while the other tenderly cupped the bruised and swollen face. The concern in his father's eyes caused Jarod to remain still, silently allowing the inspection of his injuries.

"You're trembling and pale . . . ." His hand slipped across Jarod's forehead and pushed back the locks of hair, "and you're perspiring. Jarod, what did he do to you?"

"It doesn't matter," he sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I promise I will be fine in a few hours."

"But you are not fine now," the Major countered firmly. "Tell me what happened, Jarod. I want to know what he did to you."

"He wanted me to run a simulation," he replied hesitantly. "When I refused, he used the drug to punish me. He'd used it before and knew it would make me … submissive."

Taking a deep breath, Jarod closed his eyes, hoping to alleviate the headache that was beginning to intensify. He felt his father slide a hand to his shoulder and, though he knew the touch was a gesture of support, his heart begin to race. A moment later, was stricken with images of Philip Kelley standing over him, smiling and touching him.

"_Your parents abandoned you at the hospital, Jarod, just as they have abandoned you now," he murmured. "I am your constant, your comfort. I am the only person you can trust . . . It was me who helped you recuperate. You waited for me, every night, anxious for our session to begin. It was me who sat at your bedside, Jarod, no one else but me."_

Startled, he snapped his eyes open and stared, breathlessly, at the man beside him. After a few moments, his mind was able to accept that the eyes staring back were not those of Philip Kelley but Jarod's heart and lungs refused to decelerate.

"Jarod, what's wrong?"

Trying to catch his breath, Jarod doubled over. Bringing his knees up, he brought his chin to his chest, curled his hands into fists and tucked them beneath his legs. "I'm sorry. I don't . . . . I can't . . . I want to talk about something else right now, Dad. Please."

When the Major nodded and dropped his hand from Jarod's shoulder to the bed, Jarod reached for it, gripping tightly for a few moments before looking up. He locked his gaze on his father's and straightened up as his breaths began to regulate. He saw the older man's worry and forced a smile but did not say a word.

"Sydney is in the hall," the Major offered, when Jarod fell back against the pillows in relief. "He wanted to give us time alone but I know he is anxious to see you. I'll get him."

"No." Increasing his grip on the hand he held, Jarod reached out with the other as the man started to stand. When his father looked at him, he added, softly, "Not yet. I mean, I want to see Sydney, too, but … in a few minutes, okay?"

"We can wait as long as you want, Jarod." Major Charles shot him a quick grin and lowered himself back to the seat. "This is the first time I've been able to talk to you since . . ."

When the man's voice trailed off, the Pretender finished, "Since you called to tell me and Emily that Adam had been kidnapped."

The Major nodded, sadly. "It seems so long ago; yet it's only been a little over a week. So much has happened."

"But Adam is all right, isn't he?" Jarod asked. "Lyle hasn't come after any of you, again?"

"No, Son. Everyone is fine, except for worrying about you," he smiled.

"I'll be okay."

"I know you have an attorney, Son," the man continued, "but she was hired by Kelley and that means she was really hired by Lyle so . . ."

"So, chances are, she has a connection to the Centre."

He nodded. "Broots and your brother have been doing multiple of background checks. So far, she's clean but they're still looking – we don't want what happened with Philip Kelley to happen with her. In the meantime, everyone is working very hard to prove your innocence and . . ."

"What if I'm not?" he asked in a small voice. "What if . . . what if I'm not innocent?"

"Of course you're innocent. You did not murder those women, Jarod."

"I don't know which of my memories are true, which are altered, and which are completely fictitious, Dad." When his father's eyes widened, he added, "I've been having dreams that indicate I might be . . . responsible. I do not want to believe it – but, what if it's true? What if the dreams are memories?"

"No. Listen to me, Jarod. That man wreaked havoc with your mind. We trusted him to help you and, instead, he exploited you in more ways than one." Tightening his grip on his son's hand when Jarod looked away, the Major sat on the edge of the bed. "If you cannot trust yourself, then trust me. We will get to the truth, Jarod, and, we will prove you didn't do any of this. I promise you."

The Pretender smiled tentatively. "Parker said almost the exact same thing to me."

"Of course she did," he agreed brusquely. "She's a damn smart woman – a little high strung at times – but probably one of the smartest people I know."

Jarod chuckled at the assessment, a sincere smile gracing his face as he agreed with the assessment of his childhood friend. He looked at his father and, though the smile faded from his lips, it was still visible in his eyes. "I'm glad you're here, Dad. I . . . I've missed you. I've missed all of you."

"Son, we have missed you, too," he replied softly.

"I know, and I know that you stayed away because I didn't give you a choice," he said quietly.

"Jarod, we had a choice; we just made the wrong one. We should never have let you isolate yourself."

"No. You stayed away because I asked you to," he admitted apologetically. "I believed it would keep you safe. I still believe it. You shouldn't be here. I . . . I should have told her to call you back. I should have insisted that you stay where you were."

"No."

"I was being selfish. Philip told me things that I know in my heart are lies, but I couldn't prove it to myself because I have no idea how much of what I remember about you and me is real," he admitted in a shaky voice. "So, when Parker told me she'd called you and that you were on your way – I … I just wanted a new memory, one that Philip would never get the chance to taint."

The Major barely heard the words because the look on his son's face, as he spoke, was so overpoweringly heart wrenching. Before his eyes, Jarod transformed from a self-assured, intelligent man to a child who was equally afraid of being abandoned as he was of being hurt.

"Jarod . . ."

"I_**am**_ glad you came, Dad," he insisted, looking the man in the eye, "but I should have stopped you. I put you and everyone I love at risk for no reason other than I needed …. I wanted to see you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you come. I . . ."

"Jarod, stop!" the Major growled, taking his son by the shoulders. When he felt the younger man wince, he immediately, softened his hold. "I am your father. You should never apologize for wanting to see me. Is that clear? You did exactly what I have been waiting and praying you would do – you reached out to me."

"But I was wrong," he insisted unhappily. "If the Centre or Lyle . . ."

"I don't give a damn about Lyle or the Centre, or what they _**might**_ do to me," he spat. "I never have. But you are my son. You asked me to stay away and, though it killed me, I honored your wishes, thinking that, in some odd way, I was helping you. Well, I was wrong, Son, and I will never forgive myself for what they have done to you."

"Dad, there was nothing you could do. What happened to me was not your fault but you can't come here again," he murmured, ignoring the fact that his eyes were blurring with unshed tears. Blinking them away, he took a deep breath and whispered, "It's not safe for you."

"No, Jarod, I made a horrible mistake by letting you isolate yourself. I will not abandon you." Moving higher on the bed, he slid his arm across his son's back and pulled the younger man toward him. When Jarod was resting against his chest, the Major closed his arms around him and promised, "I won't do it, Jarod. I can't do it. I swear to you, I will not let anyone – not even you – keep us apart again."

*********

"It's me. Where is he?"

"He's still inside," the man responded. "Do you want me to take him when he comes out?"

"No. Just keep him in your sights. Follow him but make sure he doesn't see you."

"No one ever sees me, Mr. Lyle."

"You don't know him," Lyle spat. "Do not underestimate him."

"All right," the man sighed. "So, you just want me to follow him."

"Yes," Lyle replied then, with a smile, added, "Follow him and take pictures of him and whoever he might be with. I want them dated and timed when you send them to me."

"You're the boss."

Lyle disconnected the call and glanced at his watch. Visiting hours would be over in an hour. If he knew his sister, she would do her best to distract him so that Sydney and Major Charles could leave without interference. He was about to make life easy for her, if not a bit confusing.

Opening the passenger door of the car, he slid inside.

"Let's go."

Willie dropped his newspaper and used the rear view mirror to look at him before starting the engine. "Where to?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, staring at the building. "We're just putting some space between us and my sister for now. We'll be coming back in an hour."

Willie nodded but didn't ask questions, and Lyle didn't offer an explanation. Instead, he turned to watch the woman he knew to be Cara DeWitt exit her vehicle and start toward the main building. As much as he would have enjoyed a ringside seat, inside, when Jarod's lawyer came face to face with Jarod's father for the first time, he decided it was best to move on.

Besides, he could get the details from Jarod, when they met later.

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer in part 1

Note: I know it's been a REALLY long time since I've posted anything. I want to thank those of you who have sent me emails to ask if I plan on continuing (the answer is 'yes' but RL and my Muse aren't being cooperative). This very short chapter doesn't really move anything along, but I'm hoping it gets the juices flowing and reminds everyone of what has happened to date. Oh and, yes, it's still Day 8 and, as a reminder, this story is also taking place in 2000. Thanks again.

Survival II – Retribution

By imagine

Chapter 30/?

"Full disclosure, right?"

Adam looked up from his computer as Ryan entered the room. He nodded stiffly. "Full disclosure."

"And you're going to swear to me that it's a two-way street."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Detective."

Ryan's raised eyebrow and smirk told Jarod's brother that he didn't believe the statement, but the Detective did not voice his skepticism. Instead, he pulled at one of the chairs and sat beside Adam.

"Then, you go first," he said. "So far, you've told me a lot about your life until last year. I get that you are feeling responsible for the current situation. Once again, for the record, I don't buy it, but my gut is screaming that we don't have time to argue."

Adam dropped his eyes briefly but said nothing.

"I need to know what happened at the beach house," he said simply. "And I need to know the events that led to it."

"I have every intention of telling you, Detective. It's the reason I came to see you in the first place," he replied. His voice was soft but confident. "Before I do, though, you need to understand one thing."

"And that would be?"

"Once I tell you, there's no going back. You and everyone involved will be in as much danger as my family."

"Adam, I have been with the Department for most of my adult life. This would not be the first time I was put in the line of fire and it probably won't be the last. It's part of the job."

"The Centre is not your run of the mill threat. The things I've told you so far are just the tip of the iceberg. They have the capability of doing things you can't imagine, especially if they feel threatened," the boy countered, adding firmly, "There is a real reason that my mother is so upset with me, Detective."

"I get it. I saw the DSA's. The Centre is beyond dangerous. I don't care."

"That's just it – you SHOULD care."

Standing suddenly, he pushed the chair away and crossed to the far side of the table. His eyes never left Adam's. "I just got off the phone with Jillian Kincade. She wanted to know if I'd spoken to you, yet. She wanted to know if you could identify the men who held you captive at the beach house – the men responsible for kidnapping, drugging and trying to kill her."

Except for inhaling deeply and releasing the breath much more slowly than normal, Adam did not reply.

"She didn't deserve to be in the middle of this, Adam. She was a means to an end to them – disposable and inconsequential," he continued, watching the younger man. "If my hunch is right, Rose Barber, Jennifer Forrest and Susan Pearce were used in similar ways."

Adam nodded stiffly, providing the Detective with solemn confirmation of his words. He remained quiet, watching as the man returned to the other side of the table and released a string of mild of obscenities.

"Except for Jillian, they're all dead. They were murdered. They were tortured. During their final hours on this earth, they were terrified and alone," he said, not bothering to hide his frustration. "So, you see, Adam, I don't have time to care about what this situation could mean for me – I'm more concerned about what it means for _**them**_! Now, are you going to identify the people responsible, or not?"

Adam took another deep breath and nodded. "Yes."

* * *

Miss Parker stepped into the room without warning. The Major immediately stood, positioning himself as a barrier between arrivals and his son. When recognition dawned, his posture relaxed and he smiled shyly as he slid back to the edge of the bed. She glanced at Jarod and, in the instant before he shifted his gaze from his father to her she saw a mixture of surprise, pride and wonder.

"I hate to break up the party," she said, when both men were facing her. "But, Major, it's time to go."

Jarod glanced at the clock above the door then shook his head. "Parker, visiting hours don't end . . ."

"The guards at the main entrance just called Doctor Collins for permission to send up another visitor. Cara DeWitt is on her way."

He frowned. "You called my attorney?"

"No."

There was a slight hesitation, as the Major looked between his son and the brunette. "Other than the two of you, who would call Cara DeWitt and tell her to come see you?"

Jarod drew his gaze from Parker and faced his father. "It must be either Lyle or Philip."

"Why? Why would they . . .?"

"We'll figure that out later," Parker replied. "I'll have Broots check her phone records and see if he can narrow down the call that alerted her to what happened here. Right now, it's more important that you and Sydney make yourselves scarce. Let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere. I want to meet this woman and ask her a few questions."

Jarod touched his father's arm, bringing the man's gaze to him. "Dad, Parker is right. You need to leave. You said yourself that we don't know if Ms DeWitt is friend or foe. Philip hired her on Lyle's say so; there is a very good chance that she is associated with the Centre."

"Which is exactly my point," the older man responded. "You shouldn't be alone with her until we figure out whose side she's on."

"I have met with her several times. She truly seemed to be trying to help but I did not tell her about all of you. If she is not with the Centre there is no harm; if she is, though, she can't know you're here."

Unsure, the Major glanced at Miss Parker and then, over her shoulder, at Sydney. The psychiatrist was standing quietly just inside the room. When he looked back at Jarod, he saw that his son had spotted his mentor and was now harboring a faint smile.

"I wasn't there to protect you from the Centre, Lyle or Kelley. God help me, I wasn't there and I should have been. This time is going to be different," he promised.

Jarod frowned, concerned by the sadness in his father's voice. "What are you saying?"

"I can't stop whatever might happen to you while you'reinside these walls but I can make damn sure you don't go through it alone. I will be here every day, Son, and I will stay as long as the regulations allow – longer if I can pull some strings. Maybe your friend, George Harper, could make a few phone calls. In any case, I won't hide while you are a target. I won't leave you alone. Not again."

"I'm not alone. I haven't been alone for a very long time."

Unsure, the Major did not respond immediately. He stared at his son then glanced at Miss Parker and Sydney before turning his gaze back on Jarod.

"I may not trust my memories, Dad," he continued softly, "but Philip never made me question what is in my heart. I promise. I know you love me."

Gently reaching up, he wiped the sweat and damp locks of hair from his son's forehead and nodded. "More than you could possibly fathom. I would give my life to keep you safe."

"But I don't want you to," he whispered. "I don't want you or Mom or Em or Adam or … anyone .. hurt. You have to let me handle this."

"The Centre used us against you every chance they got; and each time, you fought back on your own," he replied. "You've been hurt in more ways than I can imagine. This time, it's going to be different."

His eyes darted from his father to the psychiatrist. "Sydney, tell my father I am not exaggerating. Tell him it is not a good idea for him to become more visible."

The psychiatrist moved to the foot of the bed and stared at his protégé for a long time, a small, knowing smile gracing his lips before shaking his head. "Your father has been fighting against the Centre and Lyle for a very long time. He knows what they are capable of. He is well aware of the risks."

"Sydney …."

"You need to allow your father to do things his way this time."

"If the Centre or Lyle . . ."

"Let me worry about them, Son," the Major smiled, "The U.S Air Force didn't make me an officer because I look good in the uniform, you know."

"Maybe not but it's a sight I'd like to see sometime," Miss Parker announced in a throaty voice. "I have always had a thing for a man in uniform."

Jarod glared at the woman. "This is not a joke! My father . . ."

"Your father is trying to help you. We all are. Stop being so difficult and, for the first time in your life, just go with it." Turning her gaze on the older men, she added firmly, "And, speaking of going – I need to get you two out of here. Now. We'll figure out the next steps when we're back at the bungalows."

The Pretender sighed, frustrated that his point wasn't being taken seriously. He wasn't accustomed to being this out of control. As much as he appreciated that his family and friends wanted to help him, he didn't need to run a simulation to know it could end badly.

His mind was running at full speed, almost keeping time with the tightening of the knot in his gut. He looked at his mentor and nodded, half-heartedly agreeing, when Sydney said they would talk tomorrow.

When his father hugged him goodbye, he reciprocated, holding the man fiercely as he whispered one final plea for him to reconsider. But, when the Major pulled away, he only repeated his promise that everything would be all right. Jarod watched him move to the door, searching his mind for the argument that would convince them all that the plan was dangerous. Nothing came. Instead, he stared dumbly at Sydney as he disappeared into the hall. And, when his father stopped at the threshold and turned toward him, his throat seemed to close – making it impossible for him to speak, even if he had found the words.

"I love you, Son," he smiled. "Get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow."

* * *

Ryan listened quietly as Adam relayed the events of the last week. He talked about Claire's history with his family – how she and his mother had crossed paths years before, his mother walking away with disks that could destroy Claire if the Centre was to discover them and how Claire had befriended Emily in order to keep her under surveillance for Lyle. Finally, he told him about how Claire had appeared at the concert in Chicago, threatening the lives of his friends if he didn't go with her.

"Her ransom demand was for my mother to turn over the disks; but, in truth, she never planned to let me go home. She'd made a deal with Lyle. When it was all over, she would walk away with the disks and he would walk away with … me." He cleared his throat, and quickly ran his fingers through his hair. "But Claire decided she wanted everything. She convinced herself that bringing me back to the Centre was in my best interests but she failed to see that double-crossing Lyle was a mistake. She underestimated him and his plans."

"What do you mean? What kind of plans?" he asked darkly.

"All you need to know is that Lyle wanted to use me to make Jarod do things he wouldn't do otherwise," Adam replied. With his eyes still on his hands, he added, "And vice versa."

Ryan hesitated then slid from the chair and moved toward the boy. As he did, however, Adam rose from his seat and moved across the room. The detective watched the young man for a moment, then sighed and returned to his chair, deciding to keep his distance. Over the past few days he'd become fond of Adam; the last thing he wanted was to upset him by forcing him to reveal something he wasn't ready to discuss.

"I was kept on a ship called 'Retribution'. I was drugged. Lyle and Claire tried to frighten and confuse me. They did everything possible to make me believe that my family didn't want me anymore." His voice cracked as he admitted, "It almost worked. If Emily, Jarod and Miss Parker hadn't shown up when they did, there's no telling where I might be right now, or what I might believe."

"How long were you gone?"

He shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself. "Only a couple of days."

"A lot can happen in a couple of days."

Adam did not comment. Instead, he took a deep breath and described his rescue from the ship. Despite his claims to the contrary, it was obvious that Adam had been traumatized and all Ryan could do was to make a mental note to discuss his concerns with the boy's parents.

He talked about waking several times, in his room at the beach house, and finding Jarod sitting by his side, holding his hand. Each time his brother promised everything was all right, talked him down from his nightmares and urged him to go back to sleep. When he woke, around sunrise, Jarod was gone.

"I didn't know it, at the time, but Jarod had gone missing." Adam sighed. "Miss Parker found him, eventually, at the hotel."

"Do you mean the hotel where Claire James was murdered?"

"Yes but Jarod did not kill her," he insisted, his voice returning to the dark tone. "I don't know what happened in that room – but I know my brother, Detective. He did not kill _**anyone**_!"

"I didn't say he did," Ryan replied gently.

Unsure, Adam turned from the man and rubbed his forehead while he gathered his thoughts then told Ryan that, though Miss Parker and Jarod called to warn them, they weren't able to vacate before Lyle's men attacked the beach house.

"It happened so fast," he murmured. "There was yelling and gunfire and someone grabbed me from behind. I remember thinking that I should stop fighting. Maybe they'd leave Jarod and the rest of the family alone if they had me. After all, I didn't come into the world as part of a family, maybe I wasn't meant to have one. Maybe Claire was right and I belonged at the Centre."

Ryan saw the boy's expression change as he realized he had spoken aloud. Their eyes met, briefly, but, before Ryan could comment, Adam added, "My father appeared out of nowhere. He got me – all of us - out of the house and to a safe place. Because of him, no one was hurt – at least, no one on our side."

The fear in Adam's voice melted away as he spoke about the Major. In its place was love and pride; Ryan could not help smiling to himself. Maybe the kid was going to be all right after all.

"But I needed to see my brother. I needed to talk to him face to face … about everything. It was the only way I could make sure he was … that we were … all right."

"You doubted Jarod?"

Adam glanced at the man but, instead of answering the question, proceeded to explain how he snuck out of the safe house the next morning. "I went to Miss Parker's apartment but Jarod was gone and she was upset. She wouldn't let me go with her to find him. Instead, she told me to check for connections between Lyle and Philip Kelley."

He held his breath, hopeful. "Did you find something?"

Adam nodded. "Lyle contracted with Philip Kelley to do research and experiments in the area of mind control. They began working together over a year ago, while Jarod was Lyle's captive at the cabin. When the Centre sent Lyle to Africa it should have all been over. But, somehow, they knew Jarod was alive and Philip showed up at the hospital where Jarod was recuperating. Within a couple of months he manipulated his way into being Jarod's therapist so that he could continue his experiments."

Ryan heard everything the younger man said, but his mind kept returning to the discovered connection between Lyle and Kelley. The contract, used in conjunction with the DSA recordings, would be damaging evidence. It could prove the two men had kidnapped, tortured and tried to coerce Jarod into killing Jillian Kincaid for no other reason than to see if they could. If he was really lucky, he might find a judge who would put them away with limited testimony.

Maybe – just maybe – there was a way to bring the Centre down without Adam putting himself in harm's way.

* * *

She watched the car drive away then turned from the window and made her way to the door marked 'Security'. The guard nodded slightly in her direction but made no attempt to stop her as she placed her hand on the knob and stepped inside the room.

He looked up as she entered, his expression melting from annoyance to anxiousness. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"And, yet, here I am."

"My attorney should be here any minute. Any questions you have can wait . . ."

"I have already waited too long; I am not a patient woman."

She grinned as she moved in front of him and slid on to the table. With one foot propped on the edge of the chair, she slid the toe beneath his thigh and extended the other leg to the arm of the chair, resting the heel of her shoe in the space between his thumb and forefinger. Handcuffs held him to the chair, preventing him from doing anything but shift uncomfortably in the chair as the tip of the shoe hovered over his hand.

He took a shuddered breath, his eyes traveling slowly to hers. "What do you want?"

Her head cocked to one side, she raised an eyebrow and stared at him. "Honestly, I want you dead but it wouldn't help Jarod much. So, for now, I'll settle for you telling me everything and, I warn you, if you lie to me just once, it'll be the last time."

* * *

"Both Jarod and Jillian have stated that you were at the beach house the night she almost died."

"I was," he sighed. "Lyle and his men found me at Miss Parker's apartment and brought me there. After about an hour, they pulled me to the window so I could see Jarod arrive but as soon as he saw me, they pulled me back."

"Lyle wanted you each to know the other was there."

He nodded, though there was no question.

"Did you see Jillian?"

"No, but Lyle referred to 'the girl' more than once. He wanted Jarod to kill her. He gave the order several times and was upset that Jarod seemed to be stalling." When his voice began to tremble, he paused, took a deep breath and hugged himself. After a long moment, he continued though his words were hesitant and soft, "Lyle had a cell phone. Jarod told me, later, that he'd been given a Bluetooth earpiece to wear so that Lyle could hear everything that happened on the beach."

"And Jarod could hear what was happening in the house," Ryan finished, when Adam's voice faded.

"Lyle held the phone up when . . ."

_A quick sharp blow to his kidney pushed his weight against Willie's arm. Even if he'd had the presence of mind to suppress the scream, Adam doubted he would have been able to do so. It was instinctive, guttural and, like the pain that was pulsating through his body, could not be controlled._

_He heard Jarod calling out to him through the phone but before Adam could respond, Willie's hold on him slipped from his neck to his mouth. Desperate to communicate with his brother, to ease Jarod's guilt, he screamed into the Sweeper's hand. In response, Willie tightened his grip._

Seated with his back to the mirror, Adam looked away from the man. Suddenly the images and sounds of that day were out of control. He had told himself that he had been strong; that he had been brave. But the memories made him feel otherwise. He hadn't fought back. He hadn't done anything to help himself or Jarod.

_He stumbled as Willie pulled him toward the door but found his footing long enough to face Lyle. _

"_Don't believe everything you hear. Jarod did not do it. You can do anything you want to me, but Jarod would never hurt, let alone kill, that woman."_

"_You're right." Slowly stepping in front of the younger man, Lyle grabbed Adam by the chin. "I can do anything I want to you."_

Bringing his fisted hands to his eyes he leaned on his elbows and inhaled deeply. His lungs wouldn't hold the air. No matter how hard he tried to control the breaths, they came faster and faster.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

Startled from his thoughts, he looked at the Detective standing beside him. Confused, he shook his head. "But … I'm … I'm not finished."

"Maybe not but I think it's time for a break." He placed reached over and he closed the lap top. "A change of scenery will do us both some good."

* * *

Jarod looked up as she entered. Claire smiled and, as she sat beside him, asked if he needed anything and how he was feeling. He shifted in the bed and met her gaze. Suddenly, his plan to play along with her, to continue as if he believed she was working in his best interests seemed foolish.

Before he could change his mind, he responded to her question with his own, "Who sent you here, Miss DeWitt? What do you want from me?"

TBC

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